Behind Closed Doors
by theangelCas
Summary: Sam can't take it anymore. It was no secret to him what was going on behind closed doors in his own family, and he had to put a stop to it. Dean had protected him his entire life, and now he was going to return the favor. He had to protect his brother, this time from John.
1. Opening the Door

_**Sam can't take it anymore. It was no secret to him what was going on behind closed doors in his own family, and he had to put a stop to it. Dean had protected him his entire life, and now he was going to return the favor. He had to protect his brother, this time from John.**_

_**Probably just a one-shot, but we'll see how it goes. Rated for abuse. Nothing particularly graphic, but heavily implied. Read with caution.**_

Sam flinched at the sounds coming from the other room. The sound of belt against flesh. The sound of muffled sobs.

He knew Dean would come out with bruises and cuts, but he wouldn't say a word about it. He'd stumble into the bathroom right away, without looking at Sam. He'd come out 10 minutes later, smiling and ruffling Sam's hair. "I'm good, Sammy." He'd say. "Don't look so worried about me."

But Sam wasn't that stupid. He saw the marks. He saw the split lips and the black eyes. He heard Dean at night, when he had nightmares. He wasn't _good_. Not at all.

"You piece of shit!" John's voice roared from the bedroom, dampened by the thick walls. "You're pathetic! Get up and stop crying like a fucking bitch."

Sam could only imagine being the one in that room. Most of the time, he wished he was. He wished he could switch places with his brother, so that Dean didn't have to suffer through that anymore.

But he knew Dean would sooner die, and Sam was beginning to worry that he would.

Sam heard the door fly open, banging into the drywall. Sam stayed where he was, curled up on his bed. He could hear Dean careening into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Sam held his breath, listening for the sound of his father's heavy, drunken footsteps.

He heard his dad approaching, stopping for a moment outside the door before turning the handle. He peered into the room, locking eyes with Sam. "Hey, buddy."

Sam's stomach twisted at the sight of John. He was _smiling_. Grinning, really. He was breathing a little heavy, his hand gripping the door as if after all that he was still ready to punch something. His face was pale and tired, and even from across the room Sam could _smell_ the whiskey.

John stared at the silent boy, his expression unmoving. "Get to bed, Sammy. It's late." He waited for a reply, but again met by silence, he closed the door.

There was really no use pretending like Sam was oblivious, anymore.

Dean came in not too much later. He didn't turn on the light, but Sam's eyes had adjusted enough to the dark that he could see his brother quite well.

He looked like shit. "Dean-"

"I'm going to bed, Sammy." Dean whispered, hoarsely. He waved his brother off and went to his own bed.

"Wait, Dean-" Sam lurched off his bed, and grabbed for his brother's arm.

Dean flinched, but Sam didn't stop. He pulled Dean around to look at him, uncomfortable at how easy it was. Was Dean getting thinner? Sam couldn't remember the last time Dean had eaten a full meal. How did Sam not notice that? "Sam, please..." Dean's voice sounded broken, and Sam found himself hating his father more and more.

Sam finally had his brother where he wanted. He was tired and hurt, and he had let Sam hold him in place. If he was going to get Dean to talk... now was the time. And yet... Sam was at a loss for words. "D-Dean... you can't... we can't- "

"Sammy, I don't want to do this right now." Dean pleaded and tried to pull away from his little brother's grasp.

"I can't do this anymore, Dean. I can't just sit back and pretend this isn't happening." Sam tried to make himself sound forceful, like Dean used to do when he was a kid. He would straighten his back, deepen his voice, and speak with a confidence that was hard to ignore.

Dean clenched his jaw, and Sam thought he was going to be angry. Angry at him for ruining the facade Dean had spent so much energy building. Sam knew Dean didn't want him to know about any of this. He wanted his little brother to to keep that youthful ignorance... but Sam was long past that.

But Dean sure _looked_ angry, and for a brief moment, Sam thought about what he learned at school about abuse. Abuse victims were much more likely to become abusers themselves. They often lashed out at those around them, or even their own kids later on in life. Sam felt terrible about it, but for that split second, Sam was scared of him.

And he knew that was stupid, because Dean would never hurt him. Dean wasn't like their father. He was kind and gentle, and no matter what Sam did, he had never before been afraid of what Dean would do to him. Not like how Dean must have been afraid of what John would do.

So no, Dean didn't hit him or grab him by his hair. He didn't smack him or push him like he had heard John do so many times. Instead, he did something almost more surprising. He cried.

"I'm so sorry, Sammy... I'm so sorry..." He cupped Sam's face in his hand, running his thumb over his cheek. "It's all my fault..."

Sam shook his head, taking Dean's hand in his. "No, Dean. Of course it's not."

"You shouldn't have to... I didn't want you to know." Tears were streaming down Dean's face, and Sam inwardly wished he'd stop crying. It was so strange and unsettling. He wished to God his brother could be as strong and tough as Sam always thought he was.

But it was fine. They were going to make it. Sam could be strong, too. Dean had made sure of that.

"Dean, this isn't your fault, okay. This is Dad's. We just... we need to think, now. Okay?" Dean nodded, pulling his hand back. Sam spotted a welt protruding up from underneath Dean's shirt. "We need to get out of here. We can't stay here, with him, anymore."

Dean ran his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes. "We can... we can go to Bobby's."

_Bobby's... good._ Bobby's was safe. He had faith that Bobby would help them, and keep their location a secret from their dad. Bobby and John always said that they were friends, but Sam knew they didn't get along very well. Hell, maybe Bobby already had an idea of what was going on. "That's good, that's good, Dean. Let's go. You can drive, right?"

"Yeah, but..." Dean seemed to need to catch his breath again. "Dad's right in the living room. And he has the keys..."

Sam sighed, thinking. "Okay... we'll wait him out. We can go tomorrow, maybe. He's always leaving for hunts and stuff... we'll just wait."

"Okay..." Dean didn't seem convinced, but he wasn't about to argue. "Thank you... Sammy..."

Sam just reached forward and hugged him, burrowing his face into Dean's shirt. Dean had stopped crying, and now Sam thought he might start at any moment.

The next morning, Sam awoke with a start. The first thing he noticed was the absence of Dean. Sam had fallen asleep curled up against Dean's chest, but now he was gone.

Sam jumped up and snuck to the door, pressing his ear against it. He could hear talking, but he couldn't hear what the voices were saying.

As quietly as he could, Sam creaked open the bedroom door. "You know I don't _want_ to hurt you, Dean... you know that." Sam bit his bottom lip as he slid to the floor. He could peak around the corner, and see John and Dean.

"I know, sir..." Dean's quiet voice replied. Sam could see them, now. John sat on the couch beside Dean. Dean seemed nailed in place, and John was sitting a little too close. Dean could feel his hot breath on the back of his neck. John had one arm wrapped around his sons shoulder, pulling him in close. _Trapping him_.

"I promise, it won't happen again..." John moved his hand up and down Dean's arm. "I promise..." Dean nodded, and Sam watched as John's hand glided down Dean's side until it came to rest on his hip, and then his thigh. Sam was going to be sick.

Dean's mouth opened and closed, and his whole body tensed. Sam's skin crawled as John's hand began to pick at the hem of his brother's shirt. His fingers went beneath the fabric, and they ran slowly up his chest.

"D-dad..." Dean was frozen in place. He felt John's sweaty palms on his bare skin. He couldn't move, he could barely speak. He just wanted _out_. Out of this room, out of this house, out of this life.

He glanced over at the front door, and knew he could probably run for it. It would be hard, but he could do it. His dad was still hungover from last night. He'd be stumbling and uncoordinated. Yes, that was it. Dean could get out.

But Sam would still be in here. He'd be trapped in this God-forsaken house with this _monster_. He couldn't leave without his brother. He just had to... deal with what was happening, now.

"Shh..." John hushed him, his other hand reaching for his jeans. Dean closed his eyes, willing himself not to cry. "Don't worry, Dean. I'm not going to hurt you."

Sam felt frozen where he was, but he had to shake himself out of it. He had to do something. He had to get Dean away. But how, without putting them both in danger?

Dean felt John's hand slide into his jeans, and he couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't do it. He couldn't... He had to leave. He had to find another way-

"Dean!" Sam's voice came from the bedroom, causing Dean to jump. "Dean?"

Dean glanced back at John, who just sighed. He pulled away, letting Dean go. "Go see what your brother needs."

Dean breathed a shaky sigh of relief, and ran off to find Sam.

That night, John announced he had to leave. A hunt. "I'll be back in no more than a week." John promised, and both his son's nodded. Dean thought back to a time when he was disappointed his father would be gone. He used to be afraid to be alone. Now he was afraid not to be. "No leaving this house except for school, ya hear me?"

"Yes, sir." They said in unison.

As soon as John left, they started to pack. Sam put all their clothes into two duffel bags while Dean went to find a car.

They were on the road by midnight.

Dean could still feel John's hands on him as he drove. Sam had fallen asleep on his lap, which was comforting. He felt guilty as hell for ripping Sam out of his life, and running off with him. The only thing making him feel better was that staying would have put Sammy in even more danger.

John had only been getting worse as the years went on. Dean had always done his best to ensure that Sam was never at the receiving end of his father's wrath, but then again he had also tried to keep it a secret from Sam, and that didn't end up well.

_"Where are you gonna go, Dean? Huh? Who's gonna save your sorry ass?" S_uddenly his father's words were replaying in his head._ "You've got_ no one _except me. You should show me some respect."_

Dean hoped he was wrong. He hoped that at least Bobby would help them. Dean pulled the car into a gas station, putting it in park. He got some change from the cup holder and quietly slid out from underneath Sam. The payphone was empty, so Dean quickly made his call.

"Bobby Singer."

"Bobby? It's Dean." Dean's voice almost caught in his throat, and he didn't even know why. Of course he could trust Bobby. The man was practically family.

"Hey, Dean. Is something wrong?"

"I was just... me and Sam are headed out to South Dakota, and we were gonna stop by Sioux Falls for a while. I just wanted to check with you first." Dean lied, planning to tell him the truth once they got there. It was easier that way.

"You callin' me at 2am to tell me that?" Bobby accused, but his voice was filled with nothing but humor. "You know you boys are always welcome here."

Dean nodded, not considering Bobby couldn't see his gesture. "One more thing, Bobby... could we keep this between us?"

Silence. "You askin' me not to tell your daddy?"

Dean gulped. "Yes, sir."

For a second, Dean thought Bobby was going to refuse, and that his father had been right all along. "Alright, Dean. But you're gonna tell me why as soon as you get here, you got it?"

"Of course. We'll be there in the next couple of days."

It was a few more hours before Dean had to stop to sleep. He pulled off to the side of the highway and locked the doors. He managed to get in a semi-comfortable position without waking up Sam.

Dean had nightmares about John.

Hands holding him down. Punches landing on his face, blood dripping out of his mouth.

A belt against his back, arms, legs.

Stifling his pathetic whimpering, knowing that Sam was just a room away.

He only woke up when Sam shook him violently. "Dean! Wake up!" Dean shot up, breathing heavily. He could feel the sweat covering his skin. When he finally regained himself, he looked to Sam. "I'm sorry... you were having nightmares." Sam didn't mention that he was thrashing all over the place in panic.

"Sorry, kiddo. I'm sorry..." Dean sat up, stretching his aching limbs. "What time is it?"

Sam shrugged. "Like six I think."

Dean sighed. Another night with little sleep. They had to keep going. "Come on, we gotta go. I told Bobby we'd be there in a couple days." Dean explained, revving up the engine.

"You called Bobby?" Dean nodded. "Did... did you tell him?"

"Not exactly. We'll worry about that when we get there."

An hour or so later, a very bored Sam asked, "Can I drive?"

Dean glanced over. "Are you joking? You're eleven, dude. You can't drive."

Sam shrugged. "You can teach me. You knew how to drive when you were eleven."

Dean considered it. They needed to make this trip fast, they didn't have time to mess around. But still... it was hard to say no to Sammy. "Let's compromise. Come on, scoot on over." Dean pressed his body up against the door so that Sam could sit in the seat with him. It took a little maneuvering, and it was difficult to do while they were driving down the highway, but they managed. "Alright, I'm gonna keep my feet on the pedals, but I'll let you take the wheel."

"Awesome," Sam grinned. Dean kept one hand on the steering wheel and both eyes on the road as Sam clutched onto the wheel.

"Okay, so this part is pretty easy. You just turn it whichever way we want to go, which in our case right now is mostly straight. So just hold it steady, okay?" Sam nodded, holding onto the wheel, tight. When Dean felt comfortable enough, he let go of the wheel altogether, and just put his arm around Sam instead. "There you go, buddy. You got it. You're gonna make an excellent driver."

"You think so?"

Dean appreciated this moment of normalcy. He wished his fucked up life could be like this more often. Why did he have to go out and hunt monsters all the time? Why did he have to deal with his dad? All he wanted was to spend time with his brother, and teach him things- like driving. "Totally."

They drove with the two of them in one seat for a few hours until Sam was tired of just steering. He wanted to take over completely, but he knew it wasn't the time. That would mean pulling off to the side of the road, and practicing with the gas and the brake for a while. So instead, he settled with stopping to eat.

Dean had pocketed the cash John had left for them for the week. Dean inwardly hoped there was enough for food and gas the rest of the way.

Dean ordered a burger, and Sam a salad. Sam didn't say anything, but he made a mental note when Dean actually ate this time. That was a good sign. Not too long into their meal, Dean went to use the restroom.

It was only a few moments later, seemingly by absolute chance, that John Winchester pulled into the diner's parking lot.

Sam happened to glance over, and immediately spotted the Chevy Impala._ "Shit..._" Sam muttered to himself. "How in the world...?" He didn't know if it was coincidence, or if John was looking for them. All he knew is that their dad could _not_ find them there. Sam reached over for Dean's jacket, which he had left on the seat. He pulled out what he guessed was enough money for the meal, and left it on the table.

He could see John walking up to the front door as he ran to the bathroom, clutching Dean's jacket in one hand.

"Dean?" The whole restroom was empty except for his brother, who was currently at the sink.

"What, did I really take that long?" Dean asked, jokingly.

"No, Dean- Dad's here." He watched his brothers eyes go wide with fear. "I don't know why, or how, but he just walked in."

"Did he see you?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't think so. I booked it in here as fast as I could."

"Shit!" Dean pounded his fists onto the porcelain sink. "Shit shit shit! What do we do?" Dean looked around, but there were no windows where they were. The only way out for them was through the front door.

"I don't-" Sam was interrupted by the sound of the door being opened. They both turned to see their father walking through the door.

"Boys," For once, John seemed sober and competent, which only added to the boys fear. John was smart, and he was one of the best hunters they'd ever met. Without his drunkenness to slow him down, he was practically unstoppable. "Wait, don't freak out."

"Stop, there!" Sam tried, forcefully. John, did in fact, stop in his tracks. He held up his hands as if to show he meant no harm. Sam didn't believe it for a second. "Dad, just let us go..."

"I came back early, and you boys were gone," John's voice was strangely gentle, like the calm before the storm. "I thought something had happened to you two, but all your things were packed, and one of the motel guests had their car stolen..."

Neither spoke. Dean was sure he'd never be able to get a word out, anyway. His throat was raw with fear, his hands and feet frozen where they were. He though for sure that he was going to die, right there in some crappy diner's mens room.

"Look, we can talk this out. Let's just get back in my car. You guys don't have to sneak away!"

"We are not getting in that car with you," Sam wished his brother would say something, too, but he was eerily quiet. "You know why, so don't even play that game."

"Dean," John moved his gaze to his oldest, since his youngest didn't seem to be changing his mind anytime soon. But he would always follow Dean, wherever he went, so if he could just convince Dean... "I'm so sorry, son, for what I did to you. I promise, if you come back, it will never happen again."

Dean knew it was a lie, and a shitty one at that. One that he had heard one too many times. It would _always_ happen again. Always. "Dad... I... I can't..."

John took a step forward. "Dean, we're a family. We're supposed to be together. Every family has their ups and downs... but they stick together in the end, right?" John could see Dean's wall breaking with every word. He was starting to buy into it. "You're my son, Dean, you both are. And I love you two more than anything in the world. Just, please... come back home."

"No, Dean." Sam turned to his brother, ignoring John for the moment. "He's lying, Dean, you know that. You're stronger than this, Dean. You're better than _that_."

Dean felt torn. All he wanted was for his brother to be safe and happy. He figured the only way to do that was to keep him as far away from John as he could. "I'm sorry, Dad. I'm not going with you. Neither of us are."

It was right then that John _leaped_ at them. The boys scattered to either side of the room, trying to avoid him. "You son of a bitch. You get over here right now!" John lurched toward Dean and managed to grab onto his shirt. Dean tried to pull out of his grasp, but he felt himself being pulled unwillingly toward the larger man. "You're not going anywhere, you hear me? Neither of you." He landed a punch that had Dean falling to the tiled floor in a second.

Sam jumped forward to his brother, trying to pick him off the floor. "Dean!" He cried. Blood was dripping from his lips. "Dean, get up."

John reached down and grabbed Sam by the jacket, standing him up, effortlessly. Sam struggled to get away, or at least to get the jacket off, but his father just adjusted his grip. "You heard him, Dean. Get up. We're leaving."

As John practically dragged Sam out of the bathroom and through the restaurant, Sam hoped that _someone_ would try and help him. He was pushing against John, and yelling, but he supposed he must have looked like a rotten kid, mad at his father. It didn't help that he was shouting "Dad!" In hindsight, he should have said something else, like, "Stranger danger! I'm being kidnapped!"

Unfortunately, he wasn't thinking like that, because he was too worried about Dean. His father had just left him on the floor of the bathroom, apparently confident that he wasn't going anywhere without Sam.

Sam wished that Dean would just get the hell out of there. He wished he'd just leave Sam behind and _run_. But he knew better than that. Dean would do exactly as John had predicted.

John shoved Sam against the Impala with one hand as they waited for Dean to limp out. "I expected more from you, Sammy." His father lectured, shaking his head. "I was always easier on you cause I thought you knew better. Obviously I was wrong."

"You're an asshole, you know that?" Sam spat back. "You can't possibly think you're doing the right thing."

Then there was Dean. He walked through the front doors of the diner, heading straight for the Impala. Sam let his head drop onto the car, a sob escaping from his lips. They were back to where they started. After all they had been through, things had only gotten worse.

Or so he thought.

It surprised them both when Dean, still a few feet from the car, pulled a gun out from behind him. With little hesitation, he fired two bullets at John. Startled screams came from inside the diner. One bullet went into John's arm, the other into his abdomen. John screamed in pain, releasing Sam, and fell to the gravel floor.

Sam ran to his brother, who was just standing there, staring at his father like he didn't know what was happening. "Dean! Come on, we gotta go!" Sam's voice seemed to trigger Dean back to the present, and they both ran to the car they had come in.

Dean drove as fast as he possibly could out of that parking lot, driving right past their dad, who was still writhing on the ground.

Neither could tell how long they drove in utter silence.

Suddenly, Dean spoke. "I shot him."

"I know."

"I shot Dad."

"I know."

"He can't... I mean, He'll be okay. Those weren't fatal shots, right?"

"I hope they were."

"Sam, no! I shot him! Holy shit I shot Dad. What have I done?" Dean pulled off to the side of the road and put his face in his hands. "What if he dies, Sammy? What if I killed him?"

Sam leaned over as far as he could to get closer to his brother. "Look, Dean, you're right. They weren't fatal shots. Someone in that diner must have called the cops, and he'll go to the hospital. He's not going to die."

Dean nodded, but that barely made him feel any better. "I'm going to Hell."

"No, Dean. You're not. You had every right to do what you did. You saved me!" Sam was more than a little surprised at what Dean had done, but he wasn't going to let his brother feel guilty. If he hadn't shot John, John probably would have killed them, or worse.

Dean took deep breaths, feeling pathetic for freaking out like that in front of Sam. What happened, recently, to make him like this? He had always tried his best to be strong, but now he was just _weak_. "We have to keep going. To Bobby's..."

Sam nodded. "Okay. Let's go."

Dean drove non-stop the next 14 hours until they were finally in Sioux Falls.

He thought he was going to pass out right on Bobby's doorstep, but he managed to make it up the stairs and knock on the door. Sam, who stood beside him, reached out to hold his hand. Usually it was a gesture Dean would refuse, but for once he allowed it. Maybe it made him feel just a little bit better. Maybe.

Bobby heard the knock on the door, and knew instantly who it was. He put down his book and his glass of whiskey, and headed over to the door. When he opened it, he didn't quite expect the boys in the condition they were in.

They both look exhausted, like they hadn't slept in days. Sam looked liked he was holding onto Dean like a lifeline, as if he was afraid if he let go his brother would just fly away. There was a faded black and blue bruise on Dean's cheek, and another at the base of his neck.

Regardless, both smiled in relief when they saw Bobby's face. "Good to see ya, Bobby." Dean greeted.

"You too, boys. Come on in." They had some explaining to do, that was for sure. But first he was going to get those boys something to drink, because they both looked like they desperately needed it.

He handed them each a glass of Coca-Cola, and had them sit down on the couch. He pulled a chair over so he could sit right in front of them, and they could finally talk face to face. "Like I said on the phone, Dean, you gotta tell me what's up."

Dean looked down at his glass, and Bobby hoped he was going to spill. Because really, even if Dean didn't hold up his end of the deal, it wasn't like Bobby was gonna kick them out. Either way, they were staying with him until they _wanted_ to leave. "We, uh... we ran away, Bobby."

Bobby narrowed his eyes. "I'm sorry?"

"We had to leave, Bobby, and there was no where else we could go!" Dean silently prayed that Bobby wasn't about to pick up his phone and call their dad. He couldn't blame him, of course. Bobby couldn't possibly understand what it was like...

"Why did you have to leave?" Bobby asked, calmly. This was turning out worse than he predicted. He had thought that maybe Dean had just run out of money or something while John was gone. He thought he just needed some food and a place to crash until John was done with whatever hunt he was on.

"Because of Dad." Sam spoke up this time, glancing over at his big brother. "Show him, Dean." He added, more gently.

Dean shook his head. "Sam..."

"Dean." Sam said, firmly. Dean looked down at the ground, again, putting his untouched drink on the table. Hesitantly, he reached down and pulled up his t-shirt, exposing bruises and cuts all over his abdomen.

Bobby's eyes widened. This felt all to familiar. "You tellin' me John did that?" Dean nodded, still not making eye contact. He pulled his shirt back down and picked his drink back up. "Boy... how long has this been going on?"

Dean shrugged, and Bobby looked at Sam, instead. Thankfully, the younger Winchester looked relatively unharmed. "Awhile." Sam answered.

Bobby rubbed his face, taking his cap off. "Why didn't you tell me before, Dean? I would have helped you, sooner."

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "It... it wasn't that bad at first. He was just... rough with me, that's all. But it started getting worse, and..." Dean's voice trailed off, but he had said enough.

"Where's John now?"

"We don't know." Sam answered. "He, uh... he was shot."

"_Shot_?" Bobby repeated. "Who shot him?"

"I did." Dean said, quietly. "I didn't... he had Sam..."

Bobby leaned back in his chair. This was a lot of information to take in. He had to deal with this situation delicately. He didn't know much about what had happened, but it was most likely way worse than what Dean made it seem. But either way, he was going to protect these kids, no matter what. "It's okay, Dean. I understand. We'll figure this out, together. You're not alone."

Dean nodded, and somewhere deep inside, he felt relieved. So yeah, maybe he _was _going to Hell. But as for right now, he wasn't alone.


	2. Memories

_**This is a very dark fic. Please read with caution.**_

_John's hot breath brushed against his skin, crawling up the back of his neck. It smelled like an unpleasant combination of liquor and gunpowder that made Dean want to puke. John was too close to him. He felt much too warm beneath his large body, but he couldn't escape. He was pinned down, unable to move or even breathe._

"_Shh... stop struggling. It'll be over faster if you stop struggling." John's words slurred together and Dean kept reminding himself that it was the alcohol doing this, not his father. He was just drunk, that's all._

_Dean's face was already streaked with silent tears as John removed his jeans. He felt exposed and vulnerable and he tried to convince his mind that he was somewhere else. _Anywhere_ else. Anywhere but here, in this moment._

"_Please... stop... don't..." Dean found it harder and harder to get the words out. _

_He felt John's hand connect with his face, immediately ending all attempts at pleading. "I already told you to be quiet."_

_Dean felt his hands on his body, nails digging into his skin. "Dean," He heard his father's voice. "Dean, wake up." Suddenly, he father grabbed his arms and started to shake him, violently. "Dean! Wake up!"_

Dean's eyes shot open, and he tried not to panic at the hand wrapped around his arm. He pulled away and sat up. "Dean? Are you okay?"

Dean let out a sigh of relief. It was just Bobby. He nodded silently. He and Sam had been at Bobby's for only three days, and he still wasn't used to it. He had nightmares every night, and he always woke up, thinking his dad was right there.

Bobby eyed him suspiciously, but let it slide. The poor kid had been through enough. "Breakfast is ready, if you want."

"Okay. Be there in a minute." Dean watched Bobby leave, closing the door behind him. Dean fell back onto his pillow. His nightmares had only gotten worse since he left his father, even though he thought it would get better. He wished he could just erase all those memories completely, so he could just move on with his new life, without his old one trying to force it's way back.

Dean wandered out into the kitchen. Bobby and Sam sat at the table with plates full of scrambled eggs and bacon. "Morning, Dean," Sam smiled up at his big brother. "Your plates on the counter."

"Thanks," Dean grabbed the plate and sat down beside Sam, but when he looked down at the meal, he didn't feel hungry at all.

They sat in silence for a while, Bobby and Sam finished their plates while Dean mostly just stirred his eggs around with his fork. Dean could tell Bobby wanted to say something, but was waiting for the right time. Dean took a couple bites of the bacon, hoping that he would just spit it out already.

"Dean," Bobby said, finally. "I need to ask you something."

Dean glanced over at Sam, who obviously knew what Bobby was going to say. "Okay..."

"I know you probably don't want to right now... but how would you feel about talkin' to somebody about what happened?"

Dean dropped his fork on his plate, which made a loud clattering sound. "What, like a shrink? I ain't goin' to some freak psychoanalyst, Bobby." Dean couldn't imagine having to sit in the room with some old guy who just asked him about his _feelings_ for an hour. And he certainly didn't want to tell anybody any specifics of what happened. He just wanted to forget about all of it.

"I think it would be good for you-"

"Nuh-uh, no way." Dean shook his head. "I''m not doing it, Bobby. I... I can't do it."

"Look, Dean, this isn't just about diggin' up memories that nobody wants to dig up. It's about keeping John away from you." Dean stared at him, confused, so Bobby continued. "I don't know where John is now, but I'd bet all I've got that he's gonna be lookin' for the two of you. And it ain't gonna be long until he looks here. And when he finds you boys... well, I don't have any legal rights to keep you from him. He's your daddy, and he has every right to drag you back home. But I can... sue for custody if we can prove what he did to ya."

Dean felt both pairs of eyes staring at him, expectantly. He _couldn't_ go back. Not anymore. But he didn't want to tell anybody else about what happened, either. "I... how long?"

"I don't know, Dean. I'm sorry."

Dean nodded. He knew he had to do this. It was the only way.

The next couple days were a blur to Dean. Bobby had called some people, who Dean assumed were Child Protective Services, or something. Dean didn't have to do much, just answer some of Bobby's questions.

And then a couple days later, he found himself sitting in the waiting room of a child psychologist.

"Dean Winchester?" The receptionists voice rang out. Dean glanced over at Bobby before standing up. He walked over to his desk. "You're Dean Winchester?" The man asked. Dean nodded. "Ms. Claire is ready to see you."

Dean felt nervous walking into the room, even though he knew it was stupid. This woman was only trying to help him. All he had to do was be honest, and convincing.

"Hello, Dean. Go ahead and have a seat." Ms. Claire was sitting in a chair, holding a clipboard. She had long black hair, tied back in a pony tail, and wore thick-rimmed glasses. Dean sat down on the seat in front of her. "I'm Ms. Claire."

Dean nodded. "I kinda, figured."

Ms. Claire smiled. "Is there anything you'd like to know about me, Dean? I think I'm going to be learning a lot about you, and it's only fair."

Dean thought for a moment and shook his head. He really just wanted to get this over with.

"I talked to Mr. Singer. He's looking after you, right?" Dean agreed. "He told me about your situation with your father. If you don't mind, I'd like you to elaborate on that."

Dean looked down at his hands. "Um..."

"Do you remember the first time it happened?" She got right into it.

Dean shrugged, not looking up at her. He could still feel the bruises and cuts beneath his clothes. His face had mostly healed, though, so it wasn't as obvious. But still he felt like she was staring at all the right places, as if she knew exactly where he was hurt. He hated that.

He heard Ms. Claire sigh, sympathetically. "Dean, I know this is going to be hard for you. But I know that some terrible things have happened to you. You've been through a lot, and it is not my intent to make things worse. I want to _help_ you. But I need you to cooperate with me. Can you do that?"

Dean looked up to meet her eyes. He was pretty good at reading people, and she seemed genuine. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Now, do you remember?"

"No, not really... it's been happening for a while."

Ms. Claire nodded, as if she had already known that answer. "Are you scared of your father, Dean?"

He wanted to say no, because he didn't want to be scared of anything, let alone his own father. After a moment of thinking, in a small voice, he replied, "Yes."

"What are you afraid of?"

"I don't know... Just... I don't want to make him mad."

"Why not?" 

He paused. "Because I never know what he's going to do."

"And when you do make him mad? What does he do, Dean?"

Dean swallowed hard. He felt like curling up in the chair and crying his eyes out like a baby, but he knew he couldn't. He just had to talk. That's all he had to do. Just tell her the truth.

Well, mostly the truth.

"_You let her get away, Dean!"_ He didn't want to mention that _she_ was a Djinn, because then Ms. Claire would _never_ believe him. _"We almost had her and you let her get away."_

_Dean slunk back, trying to put as much space between him and John as he could. He backed away until he felt his legs against the back of the couch, and John was just a foot away. There was nowhere to go. "I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to..."_

"_Of course you didn't mean to!" John yelled. "You never _mean to_, but somehow you always manage to fuck it up, anyway." John took a menacing step toward him, and Dean could see hate in his eyes. He _hated_ him. Of course he did. He deserved it._

_Dean braced for the punch to his gut, but it didn't make it hurt any less. Dean doubled over, trying to make himself as small as possible. "Come on, get up." John grabbed at his hair, yanking his head back up. "You just gonna sit there and take it like a bitch? I thought I raised you to be a man."_

_Dean thought about fighting back, or running away, but quite frankly he didn't have it in him. He felt tears running down his face and he felt _weak_. He _was_ weak. He felt another punch to his jaw. _

"_That's what I thought." Dean's eyes were closed, but he heard the sound of a belt being undone, and he braced himself once again. He told himself that this was normal. He screwed up, and this was his punishment. It was just they way things were._

_The leather belt hit him hard on the side, and it took every ounce of control Dean had to not fall to the ground, or run. He just grabbed onto the couch, digging his fingers into the material, and waited for it to be over._

He looked back up to Ms. Claire, who's lips were curled downward, her pen no longer scribbling. She put down the pen and paper and adjusted her skirt. She leaned forward to get a better look at the boy in front of her. "Thank you for being honest with me, Dean. Is there anything else you'd like to share?"

Dean shook his head. Not today. One was enough.

…

Ms. Claire was a well-known and respected child psychiatrist. With three degrees and years of practice, she had devoted her whole life to working with children, and she combined that with her love of psychology and the human brain in order to help the kids who needed it most.

At least, that's what Sam found out about her from her autobiography, which he found in her waiting room. It had been a week since Dean's fist visit with her, (he had been back three times,) and still nothing seemed to be changing. He swore he was working with her, and answering all her questions, but it didn't seem to be helping. Ms. Claire had asked to see Sam, now, as well. Sam wasn't sure why, but he figure she thought Sam could help her get inside Dean's head. Little did she know, Sam only _wished_ he could understand his brother that well.

"Well, Sam, as you know I am Dean's psychiatrist, Ms. Claire. I've been talking to him for about a week now." Sam nodded. "I asked your uncle if I could speak to you as well, because I think it's important to get your side of it."

"If you think it will help."

"So, Sam, start by telling me about your relationship with your brother."

Sam smiled. "We're close... Pretty much as close as you get with brothers. He's been taking care of me since I was a baby. He looks out for me, and I look out for him." Sam knew that if it weren't for him, Dean wouldn't be in Sioux Falls right now, getting help. He'd still be there.

Ms. Claire was writing things down in her notes. She looked up as he finished. "Your brother talked about you a lot. I can certainly believe that you're close. What about you and your father?"

A lump started to form in Sam's throat, but he pushed it down. "He was... gone a lot. He worked all the time, and he'd leave me with Dean. Even when he was home, he's not much of an affectionate person, you know. But I used to think it didn't matter, 'cause he was my dad, right? But recently, I've changed my mind."

"What about Dean's relationship with your father?"

Sam mulled it over, trying to remember back when he was little. He wondered for the first time if things were different back then, or if he just never noticed before. "Well... It was always strained. Dean, he... He loved our dad. He'd do anything for him. To be honest, I'm a little worried he still would. But our dad, John, didn't care. Never did. He treated Dean more like a babysitter. Made him take care of me, even when he was young. John just ordered him around like he was nothing. And he..." Sam paused. "He was horrible to him."

"Did he get physical with him? Did he push him, or hit him or anything like that?"

Sam knew she already had this answer, but he humored her, anyway. "Yes."

"What exactly did he do?"

Sam sighed. "I never really saw anything happen. So I'm not sure. I just saw the... aftermath."

Ms. Claire nodded and wrote something down. "Was there sexual abuse?"

Sam wanted go throw up at the thought of it. But he remembered back to the morning before they ran away, and he had no idea if that was a one time thing or much, much worse. "I don't know. I hope to God not, and Dean never mentioned anything like that, but... I don't know."

"Did he tell you much? About what was going on?"

"He didn't really tell me anything. He didn't want me to know." Sam ran his fingers through his hair."But I wasn't stupid. I noticed things."

_Dean was curled up on the couch when Sam got home. Dean stayed home sick from school that day. Last night John had gotten back from work late, and he drank a lot. Hr had been agitated and kept yelling at the TV. When Sam went to bed, Dean said he was going to stay out with John to keep an eye on him._

_The next morning, John was the one who woke Sam up for school instead of Dean. He told him Dean wasn't feeling well, and he wasn't going to school that day. He rushed him to get ready and to school. He hadn't seen Dean that day until now._

_"Hey, Dean!" Sam dropped his backpack and ran over to his brother. Dean sat up on the sofa to receive Sam's hug. John entered close behind him, closing the door as he came in. "Are you feeling better?"_

_Dean's eyes flickered over to his father, momentarily, but he quickly turned his attention back to Sam. "Well now that you're home I am. How was school?"_

"_It was boring. We had an assembly today, and we had to leave class for it."_

"_Oh, sorry, buddy." Dean brushed his hand through Sam's hair. John was over in the kitchen, fixing something to drink. Sam could tell that Dean's mind was elsewhere, and he wasn't really paying attention to Sam. He glanced over to John, where Dean's eyes kept wandering. He didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, though. "Hey, Sammy, let's go into the other room, huh? You can tell me about your day, and we can get started on your homework."_

"_Not yet, you won't." John interjected, suddenly. Both boys turned to him. "This kitchen's a mess, Dean. I told you to clean it up while I went to get your brother. Instead I come home to your lazy ass on the couch. You ain't doing anything else until your done, here."_

"_You didn't say-" Dean started, but stopped abruptly. He clenched his jaw for a moment before nodding. "Sorry, sir. I'll do it now." Dean tapped Sam's shoulder so that the younger boy would get off his lap. "Go ahead, Sammy, I'll be there in a minute."_

_Sam frowned as Dean got up and went to the kitchen, where John was now leaving. He could tell there was something tense between them as they passed each other, neither looking over, and Dean shrinking to the side. John sat down on the couch with his drink, and Sam followed Dean with his backpack._

_Dean turned on the sink to do the dishes, but looked over to Sam before he started. "Sam, what are you doing? Go start your homework."_

"_I am." Sam insisted. He dropped his bag onto the ground, and sat down beside the cabinet. "I want to do it in here."_

_Dean didn't seem pleased by the arrangement, but he didn't argue and further. He just got to work cleaning. Sam pulled out his math notebook and turned to the right page. He started to work as well, glancing up at his brother every once in a while._

_Eight or so minutes in, Sam glanced up just as Dean was reaching up to put something away in a cabinet. His shirt lifted up, exposing skin underneath. But his skin was not as it should've been. The small area Sam could see was mostly black and blue. It looked painful, and Same couldn't believe Dean hadn't said anything about it until now. _

"_Dean! What happened?" Sam stood and ran to his brother, who gave him an odd look, bringing his hands down. "Your side..." Sam reached for his shirt again to pull it up, but Dean grabbed his hands before he could._

"_It's nothing, Sam. Be quiet." Dean's hushed tone worried Sam even more. Their father was only in the living room, and apparently Dean didn't want him to hear. "Go back to work, I'm almost done."_

"_But Dean," Sam whispered. "Your side is all bruised. How did it happen?"_

"_I just fell, Sam, it was nothing." Dean finally released his hands._

_Sam frowned. "Does it hurt?"_

"_No," Dean shook his head. "I'm almost done, Sammy. Just one more minute."_

_Dean turned back to his work, making extra sure nothing else was exposed. Sam sat back down with his notebook, but couldn't find any motivation to think about math right now. He watched his brother work, only looking back down to avoid being caught. He chanced a few glances at John, who's back was turned to the boys in the kitchen. He had an awful feeling in his gut that he couldn't ignore, but couldn't decipher. He knew something was wrong. Very wrong._

"And that's when you were suspicions?" Ms. Claire had let him speak without interruption. Sam nodded. She smiled and looked down at her paper. "Thank you for sharing that with me, Sam. I know this must be hard for you."

"I just want to get Dean help," Sam admitted. He didn't really care about anything else at the moment. His big brother had been through so much, and he wanted to fix it.

He thought about all those years Sam had been utterly oblivious to what was going on behind closed doors in his own house. How much had Dean suffered, that Sam didn't even know about? Just thinking of John brought on a rage Sam had never felt in his life.

…

John had never felt such a rage in his life.

One moment, he was trying to retrieve his sons, and the next he woke up in a hospital bed with two gunshot wounds. He knew it was only a matter of time before the police ended up at his door, so he bolted as soon as he could.

His shoulder and abdomen hurt like hell, but he was used to pain like that. He simply patched it up in the motel, and hit the road. He was going to find those boys, whether they wanted to be found or not.

He didn't understand why they left. He was a good father to them. Sure, he was a little rough at times, but only when necessary. Some kids just didn't get it, and they never will, unless you beat 'em with it. Dean was just one of those. Simple words were never enough to crack his thick skull.

And what did Sam care, anyway? If he could guess, the whole charade with them running out seemed to be the youngest's idea. Sam had always been rebellious, but he was smart. He must have realized what a terrible idea all of this was. Boys needed their father. Where would they even go?

Wherever they were, John would find them. And when he did, he would make them regret their little stunt.

His thoughts were all over the place as he tried to contemplate the problem before him. He needed to find those two, and fast. And there was only one person he could think of to call for help. Bobby Singer.

…

"Did you ever have any suspicions?" Ms. Claire asked once Bobby Singer had made himself comfortable on the children's couch Dean and Sam had sat on earlier that day. After hearing both their stories, she explained she was getting ready to file her report. Obviously the authorities already knew about John, and although they hadn't found him yet, they would. But in the mean time, she wanted to make sure they were safe where they were. With Mr. Singer.

Bobby shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He needed to make a good impression with Ms. Claire. She would have a lot of say in the boy's future, and as long as it was what they boys wanted, he wanted to be a part of that future. It was the least he could do. He wanted to say that he was completely blindsided when Dean and Sam ended up on his doorstep, declaring that they had run away. But he knew he would be lying, and he knew she would know. "Yes. I had my suspicions. I had just hoped to God I was wrong."

"What indication did you have of the abuse?"

"It wasn't like I had ever seen it happen. I would've put a stop to it right then and there," Bobby promised. "But... watching the two of them- Dean and John, I mean- interact, well, it wasn't your typical father-son relationship, that's for sure."

"How so?"

Bobby frowned. "Dean would drop everything for his daddy at the drop of a hat. And not in a good way. He wasn't devoted to John the way he was to Sam- lovingly, unconditionally. It was... more out of fear."

Ms. Claire nodded, writing something down. "Had Dean ever come to you for help before?"

Bobby shook his head. "Not for anything like this. I mean, you know how kids are. He'd come to me when he lost some money his dad had given him for dinner, or something like that. He'd come to me when his brother was sick, and he didn't know what to do. But if he had ever hinted that this was happening..."

Ms. Claire put down her pen and paper. "Mr. Singer, I'll level with you here. I want to make sure these boys are safe in your care. Now, I know you've been married, but you are currently alone, with no other children, am I correct?" Bobby nodded. "I just need something to assure me that you have their best interests in mind, and that you'll be delicate with them- with them both."

Bobby adjusted in his seat so that he was sitting straight, his arms grasping the arms of the couch. "I can assure you, Ms. Claire. Since the moment John handed me Sam when he was just a baby, and Dean came, parading behind, I have had nothing but their best interests in mind."

Ms. Claire studied him for a moment, before nodding, picking up her pen again. "If you ever need my help with them, you call me right away, Mr. Singer. I can help them, I promise."

Bobby thanked her. "That's what I'm here for."

He left her office and made a quick phone call to Dean, telling him he was on his way home. He didn't like leaving them alone, not with John still no where to be found, but Ms. Claire called him up saying it was urgent. He figured their conversation could have waited a few more days until he would be back with Dean, but it was too late now.

As he stepped outside the building, his pager suddenly went off. He didn't recognize the number, but so many hunters called him from different phones, he rarely did. He went back inside and asked to use a phone, which they politely allowed.

He dialed the number and waited for it to ring.

"Bobby?"

A lump formed in bobby's throat. "John?"

"Oh thank god, you answered. I need your help, Bobby. Right away."

Bobby considered just hanging up, but then John would probably come straight to Sioux Falls, and that would be much worse. "What's the matter, John?"

"It's Dean and Sam. I got no idea where they are. They were just gone overnight. No idea if they ran out, or got dragged out. Either way, I got to find them." John was so convincing, Bobby realized how easily he could have been tricked into John's lie had he not known the truth.

"Well, John, I'm so sorry. I can make a few phone calls, see if any hunters have seen your boys, recently."

"Thanks, Bobby. I'm thinkin' about swinging over to your place for a bit if you don't mind. I need somewhere to think."

Bobby's eyes widened. That is the exact opposite of what he wanted. "You see John, I ain't home right now. I've been working on this case for a while now. But I can meet up with you someplace afterwords."

John paused on the other end, and Bobby was worried he didn't buy it. If he came down to Sioux Falls, both the boys would be in trouble. Sure, he could move them someplace else until John was gone, but all the neighbors and the store clerks had seen the boys here. If John found out that Dean and Sam had been here since running out, the result could be disastrous.

Luckily, John didn't say anything. "Sure, Bobby, no problem. Thanks for your help. I'll keep looking, and call me if anyone's seen them."

"Of course John. Good luck."

...

Sam hoped he was truly making progress.

Ms. Claire seemed to think they were. Sam cooperated fully, and wasn't afraid to tell her every detail. If Dean had been in the room, he never would have admitted all that he had seen, but talking to Ms. Claire was like talking to himself. There were no filters.

Sam's visits started out about Dean, but after a few times, things changed. Ms. Claire explained that even if Sam was never touched physically, he had been affected emotionally to a much larger extent than he probably realized. She also explained that it was therapeutic to talk about your experiences, so he did.

But now that John had contacted Bobby, things were different. He felt on edge all the time, like John could be behind any corner. He knew Dean was feeling the same way, probably even worse than Sam. He knew it must have been hindering their progress.

"What do you have on your mind, Sam?" Ms. Claire prompted. They had already been in session for twenty minutes, but they had said very little. Ms. Claire could tell he was distracted.

"Nothing. I mean, nothing more than usual. It's just... Now that I know my dad is looking for us, it's been even worse. I hope I never have to see his face again, but I'm worried he'll show up at any time." Sam sighed, looking down. "I keep playing back memories in my head. I don't even mean to – I don't want to remember them. But it's like I can't stop, I can't forget."

Ms. Claire smiled, gently. "Sam, have you ever gotten a song stuck in your head, before?"

"Um... yeah."

"Do you know what to do to get it out?"

"You listen to the song."

"I think that strategy may be helpful here, as well. Would you like to tell me about it?"

Sam nodded.

_The worst part was when Dean _cried_._

_Sam knew he tried to be quiet. He tried to stay silent so that Sam would never have to know. But even his brother had a breaking point, he supposed._

_Dean had brought a girl over. It wasn't something particularly weird, and Sam was actually kinda glad he did. Dean was going through a weird phase at the moment. He was keeping to himself a lot, and rarely talked to Sam, let alone anyone else._

_But now he had a girl on their couch, and Sam figured that was a good thing. He teased Dean a little about it, but he let them be and retreated into his room._

_Neither of them had any idea that John would be coming home earlier than expected from his hunt._

_John was furious when he came back. Sam was listening to music in his room when he heard yelling from the living room._

_Turning down the volume, Sam peaked out his door and saw his father, Dean, and the girl._

_John ushered the girl out of the house. He never put his hands on her, but by the look on her face she was terrified of him, nonetheless. He slammed the door behind her, turning back to Dean._

_Sam quickly closed his door so that they wouldn't see him, but pressed his ear up against the wood so he could still hear._

"_What the fuck were you thinking, Dean? You know the rules!"_

Slap.

"_I'm sorry," Dean's voice was barely above a whisper. "She wasn't going to do anything..."_

Slap. _"I don't give a shit!" _Slap. _"What were you gonna do, huh? Fuck her in my house? With your brother in the other room?"_

_No response. Sam could make out the sound of a belt being undone. He could imagine John folding it over, gripping it tight, ready to strike at him like a dog with a newspaper. "Get down on your knees."_

_Sam slid down the door onto the ground, pulling in his knees. He was prepared to cover his ears, turn his music back up, so he didn't have to listen anymore. But then... "No."_

"_What did you just say to me?"_

_"No! I didn't do anything! I wasn't- ow! No, stop! Stop-" _

Crack. Crack. Crack. _"You need to fucking learn some respect!" Sam could hear their struggle, like Dean was trying to get away. He mentally cheered him on, but he couldn't get up the courage to go out there._

Crack._ "I'm sorry! I'm suh-sorry!" _Crack. Crack. _"I'm sorry... Dad please!" He cried._

_Sam put his head in his lap, covering his ears with his hands, as tight as he could. It only muffled the sounds from the living room._

_When it was finally over, Sam crawled into his bed and waited. And waited. And waited. But Dean never came in._

_It was silent out there, so Sam decided to take a chance, and go find him. As quietly as possible, he tiptoed out into the living room. All the lights were off, and it was hard to see. He could make out a form on the couch, like a lump. But as he got closer, it was obvious what it was. "Dean?" He whispered._

_He got closer, and could hear muffled sobs coming from his brother. Dean's face was buried in his hands, which were covered with marks from the belt. Sam felt frozen above his brother. He didn't know what to do, or what to say. He supposed nothing he did could make it better, anyway. He knelt beside the couch and hesitantly reached out his hand to his brothers. "Dean..."_

_Dean winced, pulling his arm away. Immediately he sat up straight, wiping away tears. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I'm coming to bed. Go back to your room, okay? Give me a moment."_

_Sam stared at Dean, almost in disbelief. He didn't actually expect him to just ignore all of this, and go back to bed? But when Sam didn't move right away, Dean stood and made Sam stand up as well. "Come on, Sammy. It's getting late." One hand on each arm, Dean led him back into the bedroom and to his bed. "Lay down, buddy."_

_Sam did as he was told, still not saying a word._

"_I'll be right back, okay?" Sam nodded, and Dean, seemingly satisfied, went off to the bathroom._

Even just repeating the story for Ms. Claire brought tears to his eyes. But he told her anyway, because he knew it was best for Dean. It was best if someone else knew what they had been through, especially someone with the kind of power Ms. Claire had.

Ms. Claire listened intently, scribbling down notes on her page. Afterwords she smiled sympathetically and asked if John had ever done anything like this to Sam. Sam shook his head. "No, Ma'am. Nothing like that at all."

Ms. Claire didn't seem to believe him. She seemed to think he was hiding something. "And why do you think that is?"

Sam knew exactly why that is. "Because of Dean."

She looked down, and Sam knew she believed him.

After the session, Sam found Bobby in the waiting room. The older man sat tensely on one of the plastic chairs. He rose as Sam came out. "You ready to go, boy?"

Sam nodded. "Have you heard from Dean?"

"No, he hasn't called, but he would, if anything was wrong."

Sam frowned. He could tell that Dean was getting ready to split. He wasn't the most patient person, and he seemed to be tiring of the therapy sessions. He had only been back three times, but he was already done. "Yeah, you're right."

Bobby led Sam back out to the truck, but he could tell something was wrong. "Sam, don't worry about your brother. He ain't going anywhere."

"You don't know that."

"Yes I do. He wouldn't leave you like that. You know through everything he's always stayed by your side. Now is no different."

Sam appreciated Bobby's kind words, and he hoped that he was right. Maybe Dean would stick around and keep going to Ms. Claire, and maybe they would start to help. Maybe.

…

Dean had convinced Bobby to let him stay at home while Sam went to his appointment. He needed some time to himself, and he wasn't sure there was any other time to get that.

Bobby and Sam promised to be back in two hours, and Dean told them to take their time. Sam gave him a look as they left that said, _You better be here when we get back._

Dean would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about leaving a couple times, and obviously Sam had caught on. He only hoped Sam understood _why_ he had thought about it.

It wasn't that he was unhappy, or that he didn't like living here in Sioux Falls. Bobby had always been like a father to him, and he was eternally grateful that he had been so willing to help them when they ended up on his doorstep.

It wasn't that he wanted to leave Sam. In fact, Sam was the reason he was still here. He promised Sam a million times over the years that he would never leave him, never run off. This was the first time in his life he had ever seriously considered breaking that promise.

The reason he was considering leaving was his dad. At any moment, John could show up at Bobby's place and wreak havoc. As long as Sam and Dean were gone, John would be looking for them.

But if Dean went back to him, John may agree to leave Sam alone. Sammy was safe here, and cared for. If Dean leaving was the only way to ensure Sam didn't have to, then he'd do it.

Dean sat in his room upstairs, ear buds in his ears. He had one of Sam's books on his lap, but he couldn't really immerse himself in it with all that was on his mind. He sighed, pulling his headphones out and throwing them against the wall.

He hopped out of the bed and went downstairs for a drink. He made it all the way to the kitchen before his hunter instincts kicked in.

He could hear something behind him in the living room. They were moving quietly, but not quietly enough for Dean to be oblivious. Dean's stomach twisted into knots, and his whole body tensed. He didn't have his gun, but there should be knives somewhere in the kitchen.

Playing dumb, he wandered over to the silver wear drawer and fumbled through it. He found the biggest knife in there, but as soon as he turned around he dropped it onto the ground.

There was his father, beneath the archway to the kitchen. He stared down at Dean with angry eyes and clenched fists. Dean froze, internally willing himself to bend down and grab the knife, to no avail. "Dad," His voice was barely above a whisper.

"Dean."


	3. Confrontaion

_**Thank you for the reviews, follows, and favorites! I'm glad you guys are enjoying this fic.**_

_**Reminder: This is a very dark, violent fic. Read with caution.**_

John didn't move, and neither did Dean. His mouth was suddenly dry, and he couldn't get anything out but a quiet whimper. He stared up at his father, who still did nothing.

Dean tried to remember how long Bobby and Sam had been gone, and how much longer before they would be back. He thought that maybe he could hold John off long enough for them to return. They had to be leaving soon. They'd be back, and they'd protect him.

But he didn't want to be protected, not really. He wanted this to be over.

"I..." Dean took a step back and pressed his body against the counter. His voice was shaky and weak, just as he felt. "I-I-I'm s-sorry for -"

"You're sorry, huh?" John didn't let him finish. He pinned Dean down with only his eyes, which were strangely void of expression at the moment, like the dead eyes of a Great White. But Dean knew there was more than a storm hiding beneath his father's exterior. There was a fucking hurricane, and it was about to hit. "What are you sorry for? For kidnapping your brother and running away? For _shooting me_ and leaving me to die?"

"Yes!" Dean agreed louder than he meant to. He wanted to scold himself as soon as the words got out. It was amazing just how fast he gave up. He knew he had to face his father. Not only for himself, but for Sam, too. And yet, he ended up getting back into the same old routine, as if he had never run away. Him, trying to smooth things over with a man who only wanted trouble. Deep down he knew there was no sense in trying to calm a man who _craved_ violence. Did he really think that kissing up to his father would make him stop? That if he just backed down and took it, John would be satisfied? He thought getting away from John would change something, would make him stronger, but all it did was make it worse. "I shouldn't have, sir. I won't do it again..."

Dean did nothing as John got to him in two strides and grabbed his arms roughly, pulling him forward. He kicked the knife across the room. Dean's eyes followed it as it slid. "I'm s-sorry, I'm sorry..." Dean struggled weakly against the older mans grip, but he knew there was little he could do. John's fingers dug into his skin, unwilling to move or loosen. "I won't leave again, I swear."

"I trusted you, Dean, and you betrayed that trust." John pulled him close enough that Dean could feel his breath on his face. Surprisingly there was no alcohol on his breath at all. He was completely sober, and dangerously pissed. "I do not take that lightly."

Dean meant to say "I know," but he wasn't sure the words ever came out of his mouth. He couldn't hear himself think over the sound of his own heart beating in his chest. Before he could try again, he felt himself be thrown backwards into the kitchen counter. Dean pressed up against it, scanning the room for an out. All he had to do was tough it out long enough for Bobby to get back before John either took Dean with him, or killed him. At this point it could go either way.

All his life Dean had been taking the heat. He had been letting John push him around because he saw no other choice. John was his father, after all. What could he do?

But the moment Sam grabbed his arm, the moment his baby brother looked into his eyes, and Dean had to face the fact that he _knew_, was the moment Dean knew he had to do something. He had to be stronger, if only for Sammy. He was his brother's hero, his protector. But if he was going to keep protecting Sam, and keep being his hero, he had to learn to protect himself. Even from the people close to him. Even from family.

He wasn't going to let himself be locked behind a door any longer. He was better than that. He was ready to open the door, and be free. But first, he had to get away from John.

John went forward towards Dean, and the younger Winchester knew he and a decision to make, and fast. Before John could reach him, Dean bolted. He ducked his head and ran around his father, who was momentarily confused. "What the fuck?"

He ran for the front door, but before he could reach it, John was already at his heels. He grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled, causing Dean to loose his balance and be forced backward. Dean again considered just letting it go and taking his punishment, as usual, but he already come so far. He didn't want to put up with this bullshit anymore, and he had to be the one to put an end to it.

He struggled to pull one arm out of the over shirt, and then the other escaped easily. Once he was free again, he ran for upstairs.

To be fair, going to the second floor was a dumb idea, but the stairs were the closest things to him, and he wasn't exactly thinking straight. "Dean! Get back here!" He heard his father booming from below him, but he ignored it.

As he ran up he tripped, banging his knee hard into one of the stairs, but it didn't slow him down for a second. He had almost made it through the bedroom door when he felt a hand on his face. He tried to to yell, but any sound was muffled.

"You stupid son of a bitch! What the fuck were you thinking?" John growled and forced him into the room. Dean clawed at the hand on his mouth and the hand on his chest but they wouldn't budge. "You're gonna run from me _again_? I'm your father, Dean. There's no running from me." Dean tried to dig his feet into the ground to stop himself from being dragged across the room, but to no avail. He tried to kick at John's shins, but John easily lifted the smaller hunter off the ground and slammed him down onto the bed.

"Dad, stop!" John's hand left his mouth, and Dean could finally breath freely. "Please, let me go!" He begged. John had crawled on top of him and was pinning him against the mattress.

"What kind of son are you, anyway?" Dean was frantically trying to get away as John pulled out a knife. "You shot me! From just a few feet away! Right in my arm!" John shoved the blade into Dean's upper arm in one motion, causing Dean to scream out in pain. As he pulled the blade out, slowly, blood soaked into the white sheets. "That's right! You're damn right it hurts! But you didn't stop there!" Dean's eyes were now closed, but he could feel the blade enter his side with a sharp pain. "And then you just left me! Left me to die! What kind of family does that!"

This time he didn't remove the knife. "I'm trying to help you, Dean! I'm trying to teach you some respect!" He felt the first punch landed on the side of his face, and he no longer tried to hold back tears. His vision was blurry from the pain, but he put his hands up in a feeble attempt to protect himself. "If you would just do as I asked, none of this would have to happen!" Another hit. "You think this is easy for me? I'm your father! Everything I do is for your own good!" _Hit. Hit. Hit._

Dean finally managed to grab John's arm at the wrist, temporarily halting the assault. John was able to pull his hand out of Dean's grasp with little effort, but that moment gave Dean enough time to think, and attack.

He kicked his leg upwards, nailing John right in the crotch. John winced in pain and Dean took the opportunity to push him back with his legs, knocking him off the bed entirely and on to his ass. Dean spared no time running out the door, slamming it behind him. He could feel his skin covered in some mixture of sweat and blood. He ignored the pain in his arm and focused on his side as limped down the stairs. He was just halfway down when the front door swung open, and a figure came to a halt in the doorway. "Dean?" It called, frantically.

"Bobby..." Dean practically collapsed out of relief and pain at the sight of the man. He had never been as happy to see him. He stumbled down the last few steps where Bobby was able to catch him and keep him from falling over.

Bobby wasted no time. "Where's John?"

"He's coming," Dean motioned weakly upstairs. Bobby seemed to notice the knife for the first time. "You c-c-can't... can't pull it out..." In the state that he was, he couldn't afford to loose anymore blood.

"I won't, boy. Let's get you out of here." Dean nodded, and he was suddenly overwhelmed with an exhaustion he had never felt before. _So this is it,_ He thought briefly to himself. _This is dying._

As if on cue, John's shadowy figure appeared at the top of the staircase. The dim lighting made him look even more menacing. His face was sheathed from the light, like the villain in a movie before he is revealed. But there was no need for a dramatic reveal in this story. Stepping out of the shadows, he glared down at the two of them with nothing short of hatred burning in his dark eyes. His fists were clenched violently. "John, don't come any closer."

"This isn't your place, Bobby." John growled, though he did not yet move. "This is between me and Dean."

"Hell it is." Dean had latched onto Bobby's arm, and there was no way in Hell that Bobby was going to let this poor kid go back to _that_. He had been fighting monsters his whole life, but Bobby had never seen the boy as scared as he was right now. "You need to leave, John, I'm serious."

"I will leave. With him, and Sammy, too." John slowly began descending the staircase. "You ain't their father, I am, and I ain't leaving without them, again."

Dean felt himself getting weaker, and his eyelids started to droop. His grip on Bobby relaxed, which made Bobby worry even more. "He needs help, John. You're going to kill him, you know that? Is that what you want?"

"He wanted me dead, Bobby. He shot me, twice." John was on the first floor, now, and Bobby and Dean were across the room. "Besides, he's fine. He's had worse."

"Look at him, John! He's bleeding out!"

Bobby wished he had brought some kind of weapon with him, but he hadn't had the time. He was driving Sam back from his appointment when he saw a strange car parked outside his house. He didn't have to look inside to know exactly who it was. He told Sam to stay in the car—made him swear he would—and bolted for the door where he immediately found Dean, and thank God he did.

But now it was just the two of them against John, and Dean was getting weaker by the moment. He was loosing blood fast and wasn't going to be much help pretty soon.

"Don't make me do something I don't want to do, Bobby." John warned. He had backed them well away from the front door, now, and Bobby knew he had to do something. "Let us go,"

John grabbed Dean by the hair and yanked him back, earning a yelp from the boy. Bobby, not wanting to hurt Dean anymore, let go of him and grabbed John by the shirt collar, unsure of his next course of action. John didn't give him any time to think, though, because he clocked him right in the jaw. It sent Bobby to the ground in an embarrassingly short amount of time.

"Bobby!" Dean reached for the older man, but John held him back, fingers twisting into the blond hair.

Bobby held his face on the ground and looked up just in time to see Sam standing in the doorway behind John and Dean. He had a gun in his hand, and his eyes dead set on John.

"Dad!" John turned at Sam's voice, spinning Dean along with him. Bobby saw the look of horror as he saw his brother from the front. He held the gun up and pointed it straight at John's head. "Let him go, now. I'm not warning you again."

"Sam... Sammy, wait," Dean's voice was high and panicked.

Bobby couldn't see John's face as he ordered, "Put the gun down, Sam."

"Sammy, no." Dean pleaded, but it was too late. Sam had made it perfectly clear that he wasn't looking for an argument.

Bobby flinched at the sound of the gun shot. When he opened his eyes, John fell to the floor. "John?" He stood up slowly with the intent of checking on the man on the floor, but then he looked at Dean.

"Dad? No...no no no no..." John's fingers uncurled from Dean's hair, but the boy held onto his hand, anyway, clutching it to his chest as he fell to his knees beside his father. "Dad, no, come on..."

Bobby knelt beside Dean and took him by the shoulders. "Dean, come on, we need to get you some help, okay?" Dean just kept shaking his head. Tears were flowing freely down his face, and his whole body was shaking. "Dean, you gotta stand up, kid. You gotta stand up."

"I c-can't..." Dean shoulders slumped forward, and his eyes fluttered closed.

"Damn it!" Bobby slid his hands beneath him, and with tremendous effort, picked him off the floor. He started towards the door where for the first time since the gunshot, he realized Sam was still standing in the doorway. The kids face was pale, his eyes were wide, and he was staring at John's body on the floor. "Sam, we need to get your brother help." Sam didn't move, or even look at Bobby. "Sam! We need to go." Sam's head snapped towards Bobby, and after a moment he nodded.

The two of them ran to Bobby's truck. Bobby laid Dean in the backseat. "Sit back here with him. Make sure he's okay." Bobby asked as he sat in the drivers seat.

Sam sat beside his brother. Dean's eyes were closed, but he was still breathing, albeit only lightly. Bobby started to drive. Sam brushed his fingers through his brothers hair. He could feel sticky blood at his brothers hairline, and for the first time he could truly look at his brothers injuries.

There was blood almost everywhere. His face was beaten and bruising. He had already seen the small knife sticking out of his side. But even without seeing all of this up close, he had seen enough when he entered the house.

Bobby told him to stay put, but damn it, he knew he could not. Not when his brother was in there. If John was here, it only meant terrible things for Dean. He waited at first, hoping Bobby would come back out quickly with a false alarm. But that never happened, and eventually he had to go in. He grabbed a gun from the back of the truck, and ran to the house.

Seeing his father again elicited both anger and fear, but his fear was quickly dismissed at the sight of his brother. John's hand, covered in Dean's blood, twisted into his brother's hair. It took all his self control to not shoot him right then and there, no warning needed. But he gave him a chance, and John was too stupid to take it.

And so he pulled the trigger.

Sam had been so ready to do it. He was fuming with hatred and felt an overwhelming sense of protectiveness for his older brother, and in the moment there was no other logical course of action than to shoot him. But as soon as he had done it, he started to regret it.

He couldn't believe that he had actually done it. He had killed John. He had killed his father. The horrified look on Dean's face was too much to bear as he fell beside John.

He tried to convince himself that it was the right thing to do. Just _l__ook_ at Dean. He was _broken_ because of this man. John deserved what he got, and Dean deserved to not constantly be watching his back. He deserved to not be afraid.

But would Dean ever forgive him for it? Dean still felt some kind of loyalty to John that Sam would never have again. In Deans mind, John was still their father, no matter what.

But not anymore, because Sam had killed him, and now Dean was going to wake up, and who knows how he was going to react.

"Bobby," Sam wished he could speak at a normal level, but he didn't think he could speak any louder without crying.

Bobby's hands tensed on the steering wheel at Sam's tone. "Sam? What's wrong?"

"I killed him."

Relieved that it had nothing to do with Dean, Bobby nodded slowly. "I know, kid. But let's worry about your brother right now."

Dean was rushed into the ER, and Sam and Bobby had to stay in the waiting room.

They waited with an old man attached to an oxygen tank, a young mother and her sniffling child, and several other random people with ailments of their own. Sam sat in the same room as them, but felt like he was far, far away.

None of this could really be happening. He wasn't _really_ in the waiting room at the hospital. His brother wasn't _really_ having emergency surgeries done to him as he sat around, helplessly. All these people surrounding him, they weren't real. They couldn't be.

As soon as they were allowed, they went to visit Dean in his room.

He wasn't awake at first. Bobby sat in the one chair in the room, and Sam sat at the end of the bed. They didn't say anything to each other—both knowing that small talk wouldn't help anyone.

Dean made a noise and shifted in his bed. This immediately grabbed Sam's attention. He got off the bed and walked to Dean's side. "Dean?" He grabbed his brothers hand and watched for any signs of waking up.

Dean eyes fluttered open slowly as he tried to focus on Sam's face. He opened his mouth and then closed it. For a few moments they just stared at each other in a strange calmness. But then Dean seemed to realize where he was, and he sat up way quicker than he should've been able to, and fumbled to take out the IV in his arm. "Dean, no, stop." Sam tried to stop him, but it took Bobby coming over to restrain him.

"Dean, look at me." Bobby held him down, trying not to hurt boy, but Dean kept pushing against him. "Dean." Finally Dean looked up and met Bobby's eyes. He stopped fighting, and let himself fall back into the bed. "You're okay, Dean. You're safe. Don't get up."

Bobby let him go, and Dean did as he was told. He still didn't say anything, even when Sam asked him how he was feeling. "Dean, can you hear me?" He didn't respond. Sam took Dean's hand. "Dean, please answer me." He didn't say anything, instead squeezing Sam's hand in response.

Sam looked at Bobby, who just shook his head, sadly. "Give 'em time, boy. He'll come around."

They settled back into their positions from earlier; Bobby in the chair reading a magazine, Sam on the edge of the bed. Dean looked around, taking in his surroundings, but stayed totally silent. Sam desperately wanted him to talk, but knew he couldn't pressure him, so he just waited as patiently as possible, picking at the sheets.

After a few hours, Bobby fell asleep, leaving just the boys. A few nurses came in and were very excited he was awake. He still didn't speak, but when they asked him questions, he would answer by shaking or nodding his head.

They left after a few minutes, and Sam noticed Dean staring at him. "Is something wrong, Dean?" Dean held out his hand, much to Sam's surprise. Not wanting to screw up the moment, Sam put his hand in Dean's. Dean immediately yanked him towards him. Sam semi-panicked, and tried to pull away. Dean sat up and held Sam in place. He reached one hand up to Sam's face. After a moment, Sam realized what he was doing. He was checking to see if Sam was hurt. "Dean, I'm okay." Dean didn't seem to hear him, though, and didn't stop. "Dean, I mean it, nothings wrong with me." He grabbed Dean's hands and pulled them off of him. "I'm fine, okay? I'm fine."

Deans face scrunched up, his lips twisted down into a frown. He gently tugged at his hands as if asking for Sam to let go, and Sam did. Dean pulled his hands in close, looking down at them like they were foreign. Then he laid back down.

Sam felt tears welling up in his eyes. There was something really off with Dean. He wasn't acting like himself at all. He waited until Bobby woke up to voice his concern.

"This isn't him, Bobby, it's not." Sam whispered, not wanting Dean to hear, _if_ he could hear. "There's something wrong. Something we don't already know about."

"He's tired, Sam. He's been through a lot. You can't expect too much from him right now." Bobby had the same suspicions, but he didn't want to voice them to Sam. Sam had been through a lot as well, and there was no reason to freak the boy out unless they were sure something was wrong.

"Bobby, you _know_ Dean. You've seen him when he's down. Has he ever acted like this?"

Bobby sighed, thinking. "Look, Sam, why don't you take a break. Go get a drink and something to eat. I'll stay with him."

Sam looked like he wanted to argue, but decided against it. "I'll be right back."

As soon as Sam left, Bobby walked over to Dean's bedside. Dean looked up at him, but the warmth that was normally obvious in his eyes as he talked to the older hunter was not present. That worried Bobby a lot more than his silence. He cleared his throat and said, "Dean, I know you can talk, so why don't you?"

Dean shifted slightly in the bed. Bobby didn't think he was going to say anything, but then, "I don't know where I am."

Bobby was relieved to hear the sound of his voice once more. "You're in the Sioux Falls Hospital. Do you remember what happened?" He shook his head. "What _do_ you remember, Dean?"

Dean paused, looking down at his hands and back at Bobby. "Nothing. I don't remember anything. I... I don't even know who you are."


	4. Scared

Bobby's eyes widened as he listened. "Nothing? You have no memories?" This was a lot worse than he had thought. How was he going to explain this to Sam?

"No... I'm sorry, I..." The door opened as Sam came through, holding a coffee cup in his hand. Dean stared at him, and his mouth slowly closed.

"Dean?"

Dean glanced back at Bobby, but didn't say anymore. Bobby looked between the two boys. _Dean won't talk with Sam in the room_, he realized. "Sam, I need to talk to you outside." Sam just stood there, head tilted, until Bobby gave him a gentle shove in the right direction and followed him out.

"What's wrong, Bobby? What happened?"

"You were right. There's something wrong. Really wrong. He doesn't remember. Anything."

"What do you mean? He doesn't remember John dying?"

"No. Or anything else. He doesn't even know his own god damn name."

Sam let the information sink in before putting his head in his hands. "Oh my God... I can't believe it! What are we going to do?" He couldn't be alone, he couldn't be without his brother. Without his memories, was this Dean even the same person? He wouldn't remember taking care of Sam for all those years. He wouldn't even remember who Sam was!

"We need to tell a doctor,"

"Good idea. You go get one. I need I talk to Dean for a second..."

"Sam, wait," Bobby grabbed his arm as he turned to leave. "You can't... He won't talk to you."

"What? Why not?"

"I don't know, but he won't talk around you. It's just part of his... condition."

Sam shook his head. "No, he can't... Why would that be part of it? Why would he talk to you and not me?"

"I ain't a therapist, Sam," Bobby reminded him. "I can't tell you whats goin' on in that brain of his. But if I had to guess..." Bobby lowered his voice, just in case anyone was listening. "I'd say he was trying to repress those memories about John and you, and ended up repressing them all. The brains not as tricky to manipulate as you may think."

"So why won't he talk to me?" Sam asked, sadly, considering Dean's memory lapse.

Bobby sighed. "A part of his brain probably connects you to what happened. He's probably afraid of you, even if he doesn't know why." He knew that last part would be a painful blow to the younger Winchester, but he had to say it. Dean was _scared_ of him, because of things he didn't understand. And as long as Sam was in the room, Dean wasn't going to cooperate.

Sam tensed up, and looked down at the ground. He had been waiting for Dean's reaction to him killing John. He had been waiting for Dean to yell at him, or thank him, or cry, even. And no matter which one it was, it would be okay, because he would know where they stood with each other. But now, he had no idea how Dean really felt about it.

Instead, his heroic big brother was _scared_ of him?

"Just let me try, Bobby. Let me try."

Bobby looked skeptical, but he wasn't about to tell him whether or not he could talk to his brother. "Yeah, of course, Sam. Go ahead. I'll give you a minute."

Sam entered the room, slowly. He watched Dean's eyes follow him across the room as he approached the bed. "Hey, Dean." He sat down on the edge of the bed. Dean still did nothing but watch him. "You don't have to be scared of me, Dean. I'm not going to hurt you. I'd never hurt you."

Dean looked away towards the door. Sam remembered the way he had been frantically checking Sam for injury. He couldn't understand why he would do that, and yet not even talk to him. He took Dean's hand in his. "I know you're scared, Dean. I know you don't remember anything, and that must be terrifying. But I promise you, you're safe here." Dean met his eyes. "And I _need_ you to start talking, okay? Cause you're my big brother, and I can't do this without you."

Dean's eyes widened at _brother_. He looked down at the sheets, thinking for a while. He didn't try to pull his hand back from Sam. After what felt like a lifetime of silence, Sam sighed and turned to leave. But as he did, Dean spoke. "I... I remember a fire."

Sam froze. He turned back around and gave Dean his full attention. "A... A fire?" Dean nodded. "Tell me about it."

"I was in a house... I remember running through the smoke, and everything was hot." Dean closed his eyes, thoughtfully, drawing a picture in his mind. The memory was broken and unclear. It seemed to skip back and forth, with no clear beginning and end. "I remember sitting outside, and some firemen... And I remember a... a baby."

"You carried him out of the house." Sam added, quietly.

Dean nodded, opening his eyes. "Yeah, I did. I brought him outside where it was safe. How did you know that?"

Sam looked like he was going to cry, and Dean suddenly felt terrible for not speaking to him before. He didn't mean to stay silent around him, but for whatever reason he got a terrible feeling in his gut whenever he was around the kid. It was like some deep down part of his brain was trying to warn him about Sam, even if he couldn't remember why.

"Because it was me."

"What?"

"I was the baby, Dean. You carried me out."

"But why -"

"That was our house, when we were little. It... there was a fire when you were four. I wasn't even a year old yet. You're... you're my brother, Dean."

Dean looked down at his hands and Sam was afraid he was going to stop talking, again. "I'm sorry... I just don't remember." Dean's head hurt a lot, and not just from his physical injury. When he originally woke up, he couldn't remember where he was, or why he was there. There was a young boy on his bed, and a man sleeping in the corner, neither of them he recognized. He was scared, but he thought that after a little while, it would start coming back to him.

When he awoke again, still blank, he knew something was wrong. He tried to focus on the two people in his room, hoping he could bring back some memories. The older man brought back nothing. As far as he knew, he had never met him. But he didn't seem dangerous or hostile.

But the boy... He was different. He felt a whole array of emotions he couldn't understand when he looked at him. Part of him felt an intense protectiveness towards him. Another part felt fear. Whatever the deal was with the kid, he knew to keep his eye on him.

He didn't talk for a while, partly because he was just that tired, and partly because he had nothing to stay. And when that boy started asking him questions, well, he was a little scared.

But this kid... His brother? He couldn't be. That would explain the protectiveness, but not the fear. Yet he had no reason to not believe him. He had no other option but to take his word. It wasn't like he could ask anybody else. Except that man... "Where's... where's the other guy?"

"Bobby?" Sam looked a little hurt that he asked, but he called for him, anyway. Bobby came in, smiling softly at the two of them. "He, uh, wanted you."

"Sorry, I was just... I'm trying to piece everything together. How, uh, how do I know you?"

"Don't be sorry, Dean," Bobby pulled his chair over to the bed and sat down. "I'm a family friend. I'm lookin' after you and your brother."

"Oh... What about my—our—parents?"

It was quiet for a moment, which basically answered his question, but still, Bobby said, "They've both passed away."

It struck Sam in that moment that John was dead. All of Dean's issues had overshadowed his own. He wondered how he was going to tell Dean what he had done. It was one thing to have Dean see it himself. He didn't have to actually speak the words aloud. But now, Dean didn't remember. And if he never remembered again, Sam would have to come clean.

_If..._ Sam didn't want to consider the fact that Dean may not get his memories back. He didn't know a lot about memory loss, but he knew that sometimes they came back, and sometimes they don't. He'd have to do some more research.

"Oh," Dean felt a pang of longing for two people he couldn't even picture in his head.

"Look, Dean, I should talk to one of your doctors. They can tell us more." Dean nodded, and Bobby, with a sideways glance at Sam, left.

For a while, they both sat in silence. Sam sat on the chair rather than the bed, sensing Dean's hesitance toward him. His brother just didn't seem like his big brother anymore. He seemed smaller, and anxious. He spoke too quietly, and with no humor. _He's going to get better,_ Sam told himself. _Once he gets out of this hospital, and gets his memories back, it'll be like normal._

"Hey, Sam," Dean sat up on the bed, wincing slightly as he did. He held onto his side, realizing he didn't even know what the injury was from. "So, uh, you're my brother, right? And we're... We're close, right?"

"Yeah," Sam sat up in his chair.

"Could you, like, tell me about me? I mean... What am I like?"

Sam tried not to look surprised. Well, of course he wanted to know about himself and there was no one better to tell him then Sam. "Well... Where do I start? You're, uh, you're 15. You _never_ stop talking. You pretend to be full of yourself, but you're really just a good guy." Sam smiled. "And you're a great big brother. You always have been."

"That's good, at least," Dean laughed slightly. "So what do I... do?"

"Uh... you... hunt." Sam said, awkwardly. Dean have him an odd look, so he continued. "And you like to read, although you won't admit it. You're really good with cars, and mechanical stuff."

Dean nodded, and asked no more. Sam was at least grateful for the little bit of time Dean had been willing to talk.

Bobby had mostly told the doctors the truth about what happened to Dean. The only difference between the truth and his story was that in his story, John ran out and drove off. He had already called a hunter who owed him big time to take care of the scene.

The doctor examined Dean for a while, alone, and eventually called the other two back in. She explained Dean's condition appeared to be a type of amnesia. "It's called Psychogenic Amnesia. You might also hear it as Functional Amnesia or Dissociative Amnesia." Doctor Hills handed Bobby a pamphlet, who immediately handed it to Sam. "It's characterized by abnormal memory functioning in the absence of structural brain damage or neurobiological causes. It usually occurs after severe stress or psychological trauma on the brain. According to what you told me, Mr. Singer, it seems like this is definitely the case."

"So, what? It's like a form of PTSD?" Sam asked, looking up from his pamphlet. "I thought only soldiers got that."

Doctor Hills shook her head. "Unfortunately, no. It's common after any sort of major stressful event, or events, like abuse or assault."

"How long?" Dean asked, quietly. All eyes in the room turned to him. "How long before I... remember, again?"

Doctor Hills smiled at him, sadly. "It depends. It could be just a few days—in some cases it lasts only hours. But in most cases it lasts over a month. It's impossible to tell beforehand."

Soon after the visit with the Doctor Hills, another doctor came in to clear Dean to go home. They checked him out, physically, and prescribed him medication. The man spoke to Bobby outside, filling him in on Dean's condition, and explaining what to do once they leave the hospital.

Dean stayed quiet on the trip home, and Bobby quietly played music to fill the silence.

Sam sat in the back with Dean, but busied himself with the pamphlet. He felt a lot better after reading it. Most people do, in fact, get their memory back. Sometimes in no time at all. So finally, the future was looking bright for Dean. Or, at least, brighter.

Dean stared out the window as they drove, hoping that he would start to recognize something. But nothing brought back any memories or any feelings. It wasn't until they actually got to the house, that he felt something.

The house looked like any other house—unfamiliar and foreign. And yet at the same time, he felt drawn to it. The car came to a halt, and everyone climbed out. "Seem familiar?" Sam asked, hesitantly.

Dean shrugged. "Kind of. This where we live?"

"For a while, now. Come on, we'll show you inside."

Walking through the front door was surprisingly anticlimactic. It didn't bring the rush of emotions and partial memories as he thought it would. It just seemed like a house to him. Dean could tell that Sam seemed disappointed by this.

Bobby was satisfied when they walked in that his hunter friend had done his job. The body was gone, the blood covered up. Dean didn't seem to notice anything off, and Sam seemed to be able to ignore it.

They showed him the living room and the library. Dean brushed his fingers over the binds of the old books. Dust collected on his fingertips, and still, nothing came back to him.

Sam led him up the stairs to the bedrooms. As Dean placed his hand on the railing, he felt something akin to a static shock emit through his hand. He closed his eyes and he could imagine the stair case in his mind, and in a different light. He could feel his feet dragging across the wood to the next step, even though he stood completely still.

He strained his brain to remember. He tries to focus on the stairs and his feet and the feel on his fingers on the railing. On his other hand, he could feel something else—something wet and sticky. Blood.

"Dean?" Sam's worried voice knocked the memory out of his grasp. He reached for it again, but it was gone. He opened his eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little dizzy."

"Do you want to stop?"

"No, no. At least let me see my room."

They took their time getting up the stairs. Dean couldn't get that memory back. It was like trying to catch a glimpse at something that had long passed the horizon. He knew it was there, but he couldn't see it.

They made it to the bedroom. The bed was made, but otherwise it was kind of a mess. Clothes were thrown haphazardly around the room. The drawers were all slightly open, revealing little more than some books and underwear. A duffel bag lied in a bundle in the corner. "So this is me."

"Yeah. You decorated yourself," Sam laughed. "So, does it, uh, ring any bells?"

Dean looked around again, but nothing happened. "No. No bells, sorry."

"That's okay. Like Doctor Hills said, it could be a month before you remember anything. There's no rush."

Although Sam honestly felt like there was a rush. He wanted to speed up the process as much as possible, but he knew better than to interfere. Mostly.

They both stood there, awkwardly, for a moment. Finally, Sam said, "Bobby's ordering out. Pizza, of course. If you wanted to just hang out here for a while, maybe try and remember something, you can. We'll be downstairs."

"Is that what I would do?"

Sam frowned. "Well, no. You'd be the first one down there, picking the movie and complaining about how long it takes to deliver pizza. But I figured... "

"No, no, you're right. I'll look through my stuff. Try and connect some of it with a memory, or something."

"Good idea," Sam smiled, but that quickly disappeared as his eyes fell on the duffel. "You know what, that's actually mine. Sorry." He went to the corner and picked it up. "Like I said, we'll be downstairs." Dean watched Sam walk away, closing the door behind him.

Dean sighed. He had his first time of alone time since, well, since as long as he could remember. He felt relieved, like he could finally breathe. Maybe now he could think clearly.

But all this thinking only brought tears to his eyes. He was in pain, still, and he didn't even know why. Bobby and Sam had only told him he had been in an altercation, but gave no specifics. And in top of it, he couldn't even remember his own damn name. He just had to trust it actually _was_ Dean.

Everything was entirely too overwhelming. He rubbed his eyes with his hands, soaking up the tears with his shirt sleeve. After a few moments of standing in the center of the room, trying to calm himself, he finally made his way over to the dresser.

He picked through some of the clothing, but nothing felt like his. He looked at the books, but didn't recognize any of the names.

After checking around the rest of the room, he finally just lied down on the bed. There was something familiar about the way the mattress sank in. He pressed his palm against the sheets. He closed his eyes.

He couldn't see anything, but he could feel his whole body being weighed down, pressed into the bed. He couldn't move his hands or legs. His chest felt heavy. He felt something over his mouth. Finally, he opened his eyes, expecting to come out of his memory, but was surprised when he saw two dark eyes staring down at him.

_There was a man over him, one that he didn't recognize. Not that that was surprising. He was filled with an all consuming fear. He fought against the man fruitlessly. He could see his lips moving, like he was speaking, but it sounded as if he was far away._

_Dean wanted nothing more than to wake up from this memory. He knew that's what it had to be. He tried to p__i__nch himself, like waking up from a dream, but still he was there. He tried to call out, but no noise left his mouth._

_The man finally let go of him with one hand, but within an instant he had taken out a knife. He said something else Dean couldn't understand, and then shoved the blade into his shoulder._

"Dean! Pizza!"

Dean bolted upwards, practically falling flat on his face the moment he was vertical. He held his sides, breathing heavily. He was awake. He felt his shoulder, where the man had stabbed him, and sure enough, there was a scar. Whatever the altercation was, that the others didn't want to tell him about, it happened here, with that man.

He caught his breath and went downstairs. Bobby and Sam were sitting in front of the TV, pizza in hand. Dean wanted to ask about the man, but something kept him quiet. "Hey, Dean. Pizza's in the kitchen." Sam greeted him as he entered the room.

"Thanks." Dean made his way to the other room. He wasn't really hungry, not anymore, but he knew he should eat something, so he grabbed a slice. As he walked back through the room, he noticed a knife laying on the floor. He stopped and stared for a few moments before picking it up. He simply placed it back on the counter before going back out.

They ate for half an hour in front of the TV, and when they were done Sam said he had something to show him.

Sam led him out to the back, into the garage. Dean followed hesitantly. As he entered, he saw a plastic blue tarp covering something big. "I thought this might help... You love this thing." Sam grinned as he pulled the tarp off and revealed a car.

It was old-fashioned. Black and shiny. It had obviously been taken care of over the years. "This is mine?"

"Yeah," Sam replied quietly. Dean had missed the car since they had been at Bobby's. But John had driven it over here, and it wasn't like he drove it away. So it was only fitting that Dean get it. "It's a '67 Chevrolet Impala. It was dad's, and now it's yours."

Dean slid his palm over it, and although it hadn't been turned on in a while, it felt warm. Touching it was comforting. He shut his eyes, and he could see a little boy in the backseat. Shaggy brown hair and a goofy grin. He was holding a plastic toy plane in one hand, and grabbing at Dean with the other. A name rang through his head, quirt at first. He could feel it at the tip of his tongue. If he could only get it out...

"Sammy."

Sam's head darted in his direction. Dean hadn't called him that since he lost his memory. He stared at his brother, who was standing next to the car, his hand on the hood, his eyes closed, and a slight smile on his lips.

"I remember you." Dean opened his eyes and looked to Sam. "You playing with a toy plane. We were sitting in the backseat."

Sam smiled. "That must have happened a million times."

"Yeah. But it's a memory. It's a start."

_**Dean's starting to remember, but it's all coming in pieces. He doesn't know how he ended up where he is, and he doesn't know who he can trust. I hope you've been enjoying this piece, even though it was really going to be a one shot. Thank you for your support, and I'd really like to hear what you guys are thinking!**_


	5. Remember

_**And now, for the thrilling conclusion to this series. It's been a long time since I've uploaded, but I finally got around to finishing this thing. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope you've enjoyed the story, no matter how dark it was.**_

* * *

Dean sat in the car that he now knew to be his. _A Chevrolet Impala_. Sam told him about how much he loved this car, but he honestly couldn't figure out why he did. It just seemed like a car to him. It was old, but other than that there didn't seem to be anything special about it.

He had snuck out late at night to come sit in it, just as he had the last three nights. He knew that this car was special to him. He knew he had a connection to it, and he hoped that this was the key to regaining some of his memory back. Surely this car came with memories. As soon as he saw it he could remember one, no matter how small. He just needed to do that again.

The past few days had not been good for him. He felt incredibly alone in the house. Sam and Bobby were always there, but he just didn't want to be with them, right now. They were hiding something from him, and he didn't know what. He just couldn't trust them – not until he knew the full story about his altercation, and his memory loss.

Which was why he was laying in the backseat of the Impala at 2 in the morning. He closed his eyes, and tried to imagine the image of Sam in the backseat, playing with the plane. It was so vivid to him, like it was happening right then. But nothing else was coming to him. He let out a heavy sigh, and sat up. Three nights in a row, and nothing had happened. He was really starting to feel disheartened.

The car wasn't the only place he had been hiding out. He had been all over Bobby's house, staring at photographs and old books, hoping for more insight. He had spent hours staring at the stain on his mattress, trying to rekindle the memories. But nothing was working, and he didn't know why.

He stared over at the steering wheel. Sam said it was his father's, but since he father was dead, it was his. That must have meant he had driven it, at least a few times.

He climbed over the front seat and settled himself in the driver's seat. He grasped his fingers around the wheel, and once again tried to open a portion of his mind that was stubbornly remaining shut. He ran his hands over the gears, and the dashboard, searching for anything he may have had a connection to.

He moved over to the passenger seat, and made himself comfortable. He tried to pretend like this was just an average day for him, taking a ride in the car. That seemed to do it.

"_Got no time to for spreading roots  
the time has come to be gone  
and to our health we drank a thousand times  
it's time to ramble on…"_

_Dean could hear music coming from the radio. It was playing softly in the background as trees flew past in the window. He watched the landscape for a moment, but it wasn't anywhere he recognized. It seemed peaceful, and calm, like it was some small town they were passing through._

_He could look around, but his vision as severely limited. It was like his brain was blocking certain parts of the memory, distorting his view. He looked to see the driver of the car, but it was blurry. He couldn't quite make out a face or any other notable features. It felt like he was wearing glasses, and it made his head hurt to stare._

_He looked to the backseat, instead, which was much clearer. He recognized Sam right away. He was about the same age as his other memory, maybe a little younger. He didn't have his plane, though. He was just sitting in the backseat, his legs crossed as well as his arms. Little tears were falling gently down his cheeks, and he was obviously upset about something. _

_Dean tried to open his mouth and ask what the matter was, but he couldn't get anything out. He couldn't even force his lips open._

"_But daddy, I-"_

"_I don't want to hear it, Sammy." Dean's head turned to the driver once again, as he spoke to Sam, in the back. _Daddy?_ "There's nothing I can do for you, now. It's too late. So stop your whining already."_

_That response just made Sam cry harder. Dean suddenly felt his arm reaching out for Sam, although he wasn't controlling it. It was just part of the memory. "Shh," He heard himself say. "It's okay, Sammy. We'll be there, soon."_

"_Dean," Sam whined, again, reaching out for his brother's hand._

_Dean felt a sudden impact to his chest, making him recoil. It was his father's hand. "Fucking shut him up, would ya? I'm trying to drive here, unless you want me to get into an accident." His father reached for the volume on the radio, twisting it almost all the way up to drown out the little boy._

"_Mine's a tale that can't be told, my freedom I hold dear  
How years ago in days of old when magic filled the air  
T'was in the darkest depths of Mordor, I met a girl so fair  
But Gollum, and the evil one crept up and slipped away with her, her, her, yeah…"_

_Dean was surprised by the harshness in his voice, but he didn't stop to consider it, because his body began moving for him. He carefully crawled over the seat, Sam scooting over to make room for him. Dean held out his arms so that Sam could curl up into him. "It's alright, Sammy. Everything's gonna be alright."_

Dean opened his eyes, and suddenly he was in the garage, again. He took a deep breath. These memories took a lot out of him, even the more docile ones. He decided to call it quits for the night. Besides, now he had questions for Sam and Bobby.

* * *

"Do you have any pictures of Mom and Dad?" Sam was startled by Dean's question, early the next morning. Dean had said very little to Sam and Bobby the last few days, choosing to stay by himself most of the time in his room. If he wasn't in his room, he was wandering around the house, quietly, looking in depth at everything he could get his hands on.

This morning, neither Sam nor Bobby expected to see Dean for a while. Sam sat at the kitchen table as Bobby prepared breakfast, (which meant he was putting the fast food he had just ran out for onto real plates and pouring what was left of the milk into glasses.) They were both surprised when Dean joined them at the table.

"Um… I don't think so. Not… with me." That was a lie of course, but one that Sam felt he had to make. He was concerned that if Dean saw a picture of John, it would trigger all sorts of memories that Dean was better off not remembering. He wanted to protect his brother from all of that. He felt that this could be a fresh start for Dean.

The kid had been through so much, so young, and he really didn't deserve it. John had treated him like shit, and it had torn him apart. What he did left scars so deep, that no matter how much time had passed, those memories would still haunt him.

Unless he forgot them all, like he had right now. This was Dean's one and only chance to start over, and forget all the abuse that he had suffered.

"Where else would you have some?" Dean knew he was being lied to. He could tell by the hesitation in Sam's voice. He could tell by the way Bobby looked away from the plates he was making as Sam answered. He could tell because there was no way Sam wouldn't have _any_ pictures of his own parents lying around.

"Uh," Sam tried desperately to think of a good lie, but he was coming up short. "I mean, we lost a lot of them during our moves. They're probably somewhere; I just don't know where that would be. Sorry."

Dean frowned. "Here you are, boys. Eat up." Bobby brought over two plates of food, and then two half-filled glasses of milk. "It's good to see you down here, Dean. It's starting to feel like it used to." Bobby patted his shoulder, and Dean struggled not to tense up at the gesture. He didn't even know why he would tense up at that. He just did.

Dean took a few bites of his food, but it was more for Bobby's benefit than anything else. He wasn't hungry. He hadn't been since the hospital. He felt empty inside, but food didn't make that go away.

"You feel up to doin' something, today, Dean?" Bobby asked after it was clear he was done eating. "I was thinkin' that we could all do something – the three of us – that might make you feel a little better."

Dean looked down at his plate. "I don't know. I'm still just trying to… remember. That's why I wanted the photos. I thought it might bring back some memories, you know?"

Bobby nodded. "I know, boy, and I wish I could help you with that. But I think that this could help, too. Why don't I take you boys out to eat, tonight? Someplace we've been before. Maybe it'll spark somethin' in ya. Some pleasant memories."

Dean sighed. It was obvious that the man was just trying to help. "Okay. That sounds good."

* * *

"He's gotta know something, Bobby. Otherwise he wouldn't be asking." Sam struggled to talk quietly even as his worry grew. Dean was only upstairs, and it was important that he didn't hear any of their conversation.

"I don't know, Sam. It's perfectly normal for him to be askin' about his parents. We haven't told him anything about them, and it's just plain natural for him to be curious."

Sam shook his head. "This is more than curiosity, Bobby. This is different. He's not _acting_ curious, he's acting… well, he's acting like Dean. He's suspicious. He's looking for clues, and it's obvious he doesn't trust us." Sam had never felt more conflicted. All he had wanted was to make his brother's life a little easier, and all he had done was cause more trouble. It wasn't that he regretted what he did; he just wished he had done a better job at doing it.

"Sam, you have to relax, kid." Bobby went down on his knee to he could be face to face with Sam. He held the boy's shoulders, forcing him to look him in the eyes. "We're doing the best we can, here. Your brother… he's just broken. I hate to say it but it's true. He's hurting right now, and he doesn't understand why. What he needs is time. He needs to figure out things on his own, and he needs to know we're here for him if he wants out help."

"I know, Bobby, but it's so hard. I just want to help him."

"I know. I really do." Bobby felt a twinge of pain at Sam's words. He knew Sam would do anything for his brother, and he knew that Dean would do the same. He was just lost right now. But he would come back, sooner or later.

At least that's what he hoped.

* * *

Dean tore up his room, looking for any sign of his parents.

He knew it had to be _somewhere_. He just needed to see what they looked like. He needed to start piecing together the memories he _did_ know, so that he could unlock the rest. But for that he knew he needed his parents, and he knew that the other two were hiding them from him. He just didn't know why.

Suddenly, he remembered the bag that was in the corner of the room the first day he got back. Sam had hurriedly taken it away as soon as he saw it. There was something in there that he hadn't wanted Dean to see.

Dean opened his door as quietly as possible. He could hear the two of them whispering to themselves downstairs. He strained his ears to hear, but they were too far away. He closed the door behind him, and then tip-toed over to Sam's room.

Once inside, he went straight to the closet. He found the bag right away, tucked underneath some clothing.

He pulled it out and set it down in front of him. He took a deep breath before unzipping it.

It was not what he expected.

The first thing he saw was a gun. And another gun. And another. He dug through and found a couple more, as well as some knives of varying lengths. "_What the fuck…"_

He got to the bottom of the bag, where he could feel something small and flat. He pulled out a small pile of photographs.

He looked at the first one, and he knew instantly it was a picture of his mother. A blonde woman and a little boy that he could only guess was himself. No memory came flooding back, but it wasn't necessary. He could tell by the warm feeling he got as he looked at her kind smile. He was suddenly filled with an overwhelming sense of calm and happiness that he probably hadn't felt in a long, long time.

He stared at her for a little while longer, reveling in the feeling. But then he forced himself to flip to the next one, which was of two young boys. He guessed it was him holding Sam in his lap. By the look of it, Sam couldn't have been older than a year.

He flipped to the next one, and suddenly that warmness he had just felt was replaced by a cold, heart-aching feeling. It was him again, along with Sam and his mother. And then there as another person, who hadn't been in the previous pictures, but whom he recognized instantly as the man who stabbed him. "Dad?"

Suddenly he could imagine the latest memory again, but this time it wasn't so blurry. He could plainly see his father in the driver's seat. He could see his face as clear as day as he barked at him to make Sam "shut up."

"No… no, no, no…" Dean refused to believe it. How could it have been his father who stabbed him? How did that even make sense? Why would they hide that from him?

Did that mean his father was still alive out there? Maybe his Mom was as well. Who knew what else Sam and Bobby were keeping from him? All of this could be an elaborate fabrication, and he wouldn't even know it.

He quickly zipped the bag back up, and shoved it back underneath the pile of clothes, as he found it. He kept the pictures, however, and ran out of Sam's room. When he returned to his own room, he stashed the photographs at the bottom of his middle drawer, underneath some shirts.

Later that day, Bobby called him downstairs. "You ready to go?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess." They were both waiting at the bottom of the stairs as he came down.

"Good. We're taking my car. You go ahead and get in the backseat, and I'll be right there."

Dean froze, and suddenly he felt like his head was pounding. _Get in the backseat. Get in the backseat_.

Bobby froze as well, and stared at the boy. "Dean? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah… uh, what did you say…?"

Bobby and Sam exchanged a look. "I was just saying you could get into the car."

"Oh, right. Uh, I gotta… I have to…" Dean pressed one of his hands on his head and closed his eyes. "Sorry, it just… hurts…"

"Dean?" Sam took a step toward his brother, who instinctively took a step back. He was still on the staircase, however, and as he did, he kicked his ankle into the stair, and fell down the last couple of steps. While Bobby and Sam immediately rushed to his side, Dean didn't even notice. He was too busy holding his head.

"_I don't understand what the big deal is. It's only an extra weekend, and it would mean so much to Sammy." Dean sat in the passenger seat of the Impala. His father was driving. No one was in the back._

"_The _big deal_ is that it's an entire weekend, Dean. I don't understand why that's so hard to get through that thick skull of yours." His father huffed, gripping tighter on the steering wheel. "I don't give a shit what your brother wants. He has to learn that he's not in charge of what we do. I am."_

"_Dad, come on. He's just a kid." Dean was begging himself to stop, but he had no control over the situation. He wished he could force himself to shut up, and just let it go. But in whatever memory this was, he kept going. "He deserves this."_

"_Dean, I already made my fucking decision. No one's going to change that." His father's voice was raising quickly, as was the tension in the car._

"_You're being unreasonable!" Dean felt the car coming to a halt, and he knew he had made a mistake. The Impala was pulled over to the side of the empty road. He looked over at the father, whose face was now red._

"_You wanna say that again?" This time, Dean did not respond. "I get to be as un-fucking-reasonable as I want! I'm your god damn father, if you haven't forgotten."_

"_I'm sorry, Dad. You're right, I-"_

"_Oh, you're sorry? How sweet. Get in the backseat."_

"_What?"_

"_Did I fucking stutter? Or are you just that fucking retarded? Get in the backseat!"_

_Dean opened the door, and got out as quickly as he could. He could see his father doing the same. Every muscle in his body tensed as he climbed into the back. He throat felt like it was closing in on itself, and his stomach felt empty. He closed his door, his body going rigid. His father pulled opened the door on the other side. Dean could see him taking off his belt, and folding it in half. He felt his breath catch in his throat._

"_Get your ass over here." His father did not wait for him to follow the command; he simply reached into the car, grabbed onto Dean's leg, and dragged his son over to his side. As soon as he did, Dean felt the leather snap against his side. He cried out in pain._

"_I'm unreasonable, huh? Fucking unbelievable. You're unbelievable, Dean. You fucking cunt." He pulled at Dean's shirt, exposing his bare skin underneath. He felt three more strikes of the belt, this time without any fabric to act as a barrier._

_His sides were stinging. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry…" Dean tried, but nothing came of it. His father was practically completely in the car, now, hovering over Dean menacingly. He felt his pants being pulled down to his ankles. Then his father adjusted so he could strike at his legs, instead. Dean felt numb._

"_You'll do as I tell you from now on, won't you? Won't you?"_

"_Y-yes! Yes, sir!" Dean knew those words all too well. He had said them so many times, often while in a very similar position. Sometimes they were affirmations. Sometimes they were pleas. _"Yes, sir." "Please, sir." "It won't happen again, sir." _It never worked._

"_You better. Or I'll fucking kill your sorry ass and never look back."_

_Dean believed him._

Dean could barely catch his breath as he was pulled back into reality. He was sweating profusely, and his entire body was shaking. "Dean, are you okay? Are you with me?"

Dean didn't respond. He tried to crawl backwards, away from Sam and Bobby, but the only thing behind him was the stairs. He didn't have enough space. He felt like he was still beneath his dad in the car. "Get… get away from me." It was more of a plea than the demand it was meant to be.

Sam stared at him, eyes widened. "Dean, what's wrong? Talk to us!"

Dean did not want to talk. "Back up! Please, get away from me!" He tried, more urgently this time.

Bobby and Sam gave each other a nervous look, but they both backed up to give Dean some space.

Dean sat up, curling his legs beneath him. He leaned forward, palms against the solid ground. _This is real. This is real_.

"Dean, please… you're scaring me." Sam's voice brought Dean's attention back to the two of them.

Dean let his head fall as he breathed in deeply. Once he was breathing normally again, he looked back up. Both of them were staring at him with nothing but terror in their eyes. He couldn't find it within himself to care. "You lied to me. Both of you."

"What? Dean, I-"

"Just stop it, Sam! I know it. I know you did. There's no use in hiding it, anymore." Dean sat back, again, leaning against the staircase. "You can't hide things… you can't hide things behind closed doors and pretend like they're not real!" He still felt dizzy from the memory. He felt like it had been reality, rather than a memory. Even though he knew they weren't there, he could feel the stinging marks on his skin beneath his clothing where he had been hit. When he spoke again, his voice was not filled so much with anger as it was with sadness. "It was Dad, wasn't it? It was Dad who did this to me?"

Sam felt tears forming in his eyes. Bobby responded for him. "Yes."

Dean nodded. "He… he, uh…" Dean closed his eyes. "He hurt me like that a lot, didn't he? I… I remember, now. I remember..." His voice trailed off as new memories started appearing in his brain. Other "altercations" with his father.

Sam was devastated by that. He had tried to protect Dean from that. He tried to leave those memories behind, but he had failed. Dean remembered them, anyway.

Again, it was Bobby who answered. "Yeah, boy, he did. That's why you're here. You're safe, here."

Dean shook his head, opening his eyes. "No, it happened here, too! Over and over..." Bobby felt his stomach drop. He wondered how many times it had happened under his own roof without him knowing. "I'm remembering it… I'm remembering it all." Dean grasped at his head, again. He could feel memories similar to the one he had just seen flooding into his head. It hurt like Hell. "Oh, God… it hurts so bad."

"Dean, let me help you," Bobby took a step forward, but Dean yelled for him to stay back.

"NO! Please…" Dean curled his head in on his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible. "It happened here. And in the car. And… a motel room? A hotel? I don't know… I don't know…" Dean started to cry. His head felt like it was exploding, and there were too many vivid memories rushing in. They were all painful. So painful. "Please make it stop… I just want it to stop."

Dean was sobbing now, and Sam felt frozen in place. He couldn't watch his brother like this. It was too much. He had never seen Dean like this; even after all they had gone through recently. Even that night they decided to run away, it wasn't this bad. At least he was still _Dean_, then. This wasn't Dean. This was Dean, minus all the good memories. All he had were the bad, and it was hurting him.

"It's alright, Dean." Bobby took a few hesitant steps toward Dean, again, but this time there was no protest. Bobby sat beside Dean at the bottom of the stairs. He wrapped his arm around the sobbing boy, and held him against his chest. "Everything's gonna be alright."

Sam backed up against the wall, and slid down to the ground. He brought his knees up to his chest, and just stared at Bobby and Dean. The truth was he didn't have a damn clue what to do. He had no idea how to help his brother, and for the first time ever, that was stopping him. Dean was a mess, and as far as Sam could tell, there was nothing anyone could do to fix him.

Yet Bobby tried. He brushed the hair from Dean's face, and tried to make him stop crying. "Dean, listen to me. You're okay. You're safe. He's gone, you hear me? He's gone, and he ain't comin' back. I promise you."

Dean pressed his face into Bobby's shirt. It felt good to be held like that; like a little kid. But as hard as he tried, he couldn't stop the tears from rolling. Everything hurt. His body hurt. His mind hurt. He just wanted to stop feeling, completely. He just wanted to _die_. "You're safe with us."

As Sam watched Bobby try to console Dean, something popped into his head. Something Dean had told him a long time ago, about their mother. She would sing him a certain song every night, like a lullaby. Sam exhaled heavily before crawling over to them. He sat in front of Dean, who probably couldn't even tell he was there. "Hey, Jude…" He tried his best to sing it, but his voice was a little rough. "Don't make it bad. Take a sad song, and make it better."

Dean looked up at him, his eyes red. Sam continued. "Remember to let her into your heart. Then you can start to make it better."

Sam was genuinely surprised when Dean stopped crying. He was still curled up in Bobby's side, but now he was silent.

"Hey Jude, don't be afraid. You were made to go out and get her... The minute you let her under your skin, then you begin to make it better."

Dean remembered this song. In his mind, he could see his mother. He could see her bright eyes, her soft smile. He could feel her hand against his cheek.

"And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain. Don't carry the world upon your shoulders."

Suddenly, all sorts of memories of his mother were coming back. Playing at the park with her. Sitting on the kitchen counter beside her as she cooked. Her singing to him as she tucked him into bed. His memories of her did not outnumber the memories of his father, but they were beginning to outweigh them.

"For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool, by making his world a little colder."

And with memories of her, came memories of Sam. They day he was born. The day his parents came home with him from the hospital. He remembered all the nights after their mother died, and how he would curl up next to Sam in his crib, to protect him. All the days he spent by Sam's side, trailing behind him in fear that something would happen to his little brother.

Holding Sam in his arms as he cried. Consoling him on bad days, and trying to keep up with him on good ones.

Suddenly, he couldn't believe that he would ever forget his little brother, Sammy.

"Hey Jude, don't let me down. You have found her, now go and get her. Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better."

And of course he remembered hunting, as well. He remembered every hunt, good or bad. He remembered being terrified for his father, and terrified for himself. But he also remembered how good it felt when they had completed a hunt. When they walked away, knowing they had helped someone. John would give him a little pat on the back, and a "Good job, buddy," and everything would be alright in Dean's world.

"So let it out and let it in, hey Jude, begin."

He remembered the night they decided to leave. The night he realized he _couldn't_ hold it all in, anymore. The night he realized everything had spun out of his control.

"You're waiting for someone to perform with and don't you know that it's just you, hey Jude, you'll do."

He had tried to be strong, through it all. He tried his hardest to keep it from Sam, and to keep it from the world. He thought he could be strong.

"The movement you need is on your shoulder."

But he was wrong. What he didn't realize, was how strong _Sam_ was. Sam was there for him when he thought he was alone. Throughout everything, there was only one person who was always at his side. Sammy.

"Hey Jude, don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better."

At the end, he couldn't face his father. At the end it was Sam who took him down.

He remembered that, too, now. His father's final moments. His body falling to the ground, bloody. His own father, dead, just like that. And it was Sam who had done that. It was Sam who made the sacrifice, and was able to pull the trigger when Dean could not. It was Sam who saved him.

"Remember to let her under your skin."

And now he remembered.

"Then you'll begin to make it better."

"Sammy…" Dean reached forward, and Sam more than happily moved towards him. Dean wrapped his arms around his brother as tight as he could, never wanting to let go. "I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry I forgot, Sammy."

"I've missed you, Dean…" Sam let his tears falls onto Dean's shoulder. "I missed you so much."

"I know, Sammy, I know. I promise I'll never leave again." And he meant it. More than anyone ever could. "I won't leave you, again."


End file.
